


Paper Kites

by burlesquecomposer



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Depression, M/M, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, alcohol mention, offered with a side of YumiKuri and ReiBert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:59:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2279337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesquecomposer/pseuds/burlesquecomposer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Eren Jaeger joined as a drummer for a small college indie rock band, he hardly expected it to develop into something more. Nor did he expect to find himself deeply involved in the life of lead vocalist Jean Kirschtein, helping him battle the shadows of his past that eventually start to dredge up some of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. as i lose the feeling in my fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> here's my attempt at slow build modern AU indie rock erejean. it started off as a happy oneshot. where did my life go wrong
> 
> huge huge thanks to Sam (meetcutes) for being an amazing beta throughout this whole process, and to Heather and Koni for offering extra sets of eyes to the early draft, and to Bisha, my BigBang artist, for her work!
> 
> and thanks most of all to the erejean fandom, which is probably one of the funniest, strangest, sweetest fandoms i've ever had the pleasure of being in. you make my days brighter ♥

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you leave these marks up on my neck  
>  still there, i know but i still check  
> thump, thump, the thumping in my chest  
> as I lose the feeling in my [fingertips](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zSc767VGPg)_

_Tck tck tck_  

The brick wall was digging into his back and his neck was starting to ache. Jean stretched the kinks out of his ankles, turned to lie on the grass, and swung his legs up to kick his heels against the bricks. Now that the sun was behind the building, he didn't have to squint.

"Yeah, Mom. Everything's fine." He fumbled with the lighter, nearly dropping it onto his chest as he held the phone between his ear and shoulder.

_tck tcktcktock tck_

He tapped his foot on the wall. The grass was already making his neck itchy, so he twisted until the olive beanie slipped off to cushion his head. "No, Mom. I told you already, I'm not doing that stuff anymore." She started to ramble. Jean used the opportunity to hold the stick between his lips as he lit the end. He let the phone drop into the grass for a moment, inhaled, exhaled, chest rising high and sinking low, before he grabbed the phone again.

    _tck tcktck tck tck_

"You don't have to worry about me. And you don't have to keep calling me every day." _Please stop calling._ Jean was only three weeks into his second semester of college. His mother had called every single day and twice a day on weekends to check on him. In first semester she'd started to dial it down, eventually, but as soon as he'd left home after winter break, it was back to routine.

One night, she phoned him at three in the morning and said she'd called him accidentally.

A buttdial. At three in the morning.

"Yeah, I got your package. You could've just sent it up with me."

_tcktck tck tcktck_

Jean tapped his foot again, then froze. He could still hear his mom talking vaguely in the background, but now there was a new sound he hadn't noticed before.

_tck tcktck tck tck_

Jean craned his neck around to look for the source.

_tck tcktcktock_

"I know. Yes, I'll talk to you later. Try to go a day without calling me. Love you too, Mom." Jean hung up the phone and stuffed it in his pocket. He kept looking until his eyes fell on a metal bench a few yards away.

_tck tcktck tcktck_

More specifically, on the boy straddling it and beating the shit out of it with two sticks.

"Hey."

The boy didn't stop.

" _Hey._ " Jean frowned. "Hey, you. Knock it off."

Jean's upside-down vision was a little blurry, but he could see deep green eyes. Along with a long-sleeved shirt under a short-sleeved shirt in colors that didn't even go together – black and brown, ew – and red jeans.

And over hints of straight chestnut hair, a snapback. A fucking _snapback_.

The boy paused and glanced up. His thick brows drew tight together. Then he raised his sticks and started tapping again.

Light. Slow. _Taunting._

"The fuck are you doing? I said knock it off."

"I'm drumming," the boy said. "None of your fucking business." 

"Don't you need _drums_ to do that? And if it's bothering me, it's my business." 

"Then go somewhere else." 

"This is a public area. That means you're creating a public disturbance." 

The boy raised an eyebrow. "I'm not the one smoking weed out in the open," he said, twirling the drumsticks in his fingers. He wasn’t even looking, and that was kind of impressive, Jean had to admit. Silently, in his head. "P-Safe's gonna catch you." 

"Public Safety's not gonna do shit," Jean said with a roll of his eyes. "I can do what I want on my time." 

"So can I."

Jean groaned. "Weed's not loud and annoying."

"Looks like it makes _people_ loud and annoying."

"Oh, _snap_ ," Jean said, barking a sarcastic laugh. "I _felt_ that."

The boy sneered and returned to drumming on the bench. Jean decided to hum along noisily to the beat.

After a minute the boy said, "You're a shitty hummer."

Jean smiled and took a drag. "Damn. There go my _American Idol_ dreams. I’m devastated."

The boy was so quiet that Jean actually had to look up – upside-down – to make sure he was still there. Not like he wanted him to be, or anything.

"Four-twenty etiquette says you're supposed to share," the boy said finally.

Jean laughed aloud until he was literally holding his stomach. "'Four-twenty etiquette'? Are you in fucking middle school? Holy shit, dude." This kid had to be from another state. Or country. Or _planet,_ more likely. "Weed's only scary to conservative old white people. Nobody cares."

The boy wrinkled his nose. "It stinks."

"Then go somewhere else."

The boy frowned. Jean grinned.

After a little while, the drumming started up again, and Jean couldn't ignore it this time. He'd forgotten to bring his headphones, so all he could do was try to figure out what song the boy was drumming to. He couldn’t leave first. That would be admitting defeat. 

But half an hour in, Jean was going stir-crazy and his joint had burned out. He stood, brushed the grass off his body and out of his hair, and readjusted the beanie over his head.

"Haha," the boy said.

"I'm not leaving because you made me!" Jean fumed. "I just have somewhere to be, stuff to do! God…"

He headed into the building. The door shut slowly behind him. He glanced through the glass and watched the boy put on a shit-eating grin.

As soon as Jean learned his name, he classified Eren Jaeger as a Level 6 Arch Enemy – one level above trigonometry.

From then on, it seemed like Jaeger existed solely to annoy the shit out of him. Like he was that one video game boss who was impossible to beat. He was also one that listeners strangely seemed to gravitate towards, as though he was magnetic, when he drummed in public. He fucked around with his sticks on any edge he could find, always earning a small crowd of other college students just as bored as he was. Jaeger carried his drumsticks wherever he went – they stuck out of the back pocket of his jeans. Only when others watched him did he pick up speed, pull a few tricks, twirl the sticks in his stub-nail fingers. He never broke rhythm, not even when he kept the beat going with one hand while the other flickered up to reset his snapback.

Jean hated that snapback almost as much as the asshole under it. Only douchebags trying to say something about themselves wore their hats backwards, and apparently all Eren could do was contribute heavily to the statistic. Jean’s victories developed into the form of running by, grabbing the bill, and forcing it to the front just to see if it messed him up. The first couple times it did, and Eren would glare after him as he tried to pick up where he'd left off.

Whenever he caught Jean winking back at him, Eren would bolt out of his seat, drumsticks clacking together in his fisted hand, and chase Jean down until he disappeared at the other end of St. Maria University quad.

Another year into college, Jean made fast friends with Ymir, a woman two parts exciting and three parts terrifying. Luckily he managed to keep himself away from the other end of a fist, and she even accompanied Jean when he got his gauges and cartilage done on the same day and pinky promised never to tell anyone that he'd cried like a baby. After a friendship of swapping old movies and holding marathons while baked, she asked if he wanted to start–

"A band,” he echoed. “With you."

"Kirk, c'mon, you have a damn good voice, all right?" Ymir drawled in a way that was probably supposed to sound optimistic but really carried over into something lazily skeptical. She hated both Jean’s first and last name and had taken to calling him Kirk as a shortened version of Kirschtein. Didn’t help that they'd just finished up another few episodes of Star Trek: The Original Series (Jean wasn't much of a fan, but he vehemently denied enjoying any scene with Bones). “You sound like Petricca,” she said.

Jean's eyes swung to the ceiling as he passed the joint over. "Y'know the only one who likes my singing is my shower head."

"No, really." Ymir rolled onto her back and Jean followed her gaze to watch the smoke get chopped up by the overhead fan. "Think about it. Your kickass voice. My _material_ bass skills. We could do it."

"Mm." Jean shrugged, twirled an empty beer can on the coffee table with an aluminum clatter. "We'd need another guitar. And a drummer."

"Mm," Ymir agreed.

She roped her friend Reiner Braun, a transfer student from Germany whose major seemed as much of a mystery as the reason he'd left Germany (a fact he refused to disclose), into filling in the guitarist space. Ymir would bring the topic up now and again until finally she sat up from the floor and stared at her freckled knees. Jean watched the cogs in her head work away faster than normal – a feat, considering she was the most stoned she'd been since midterm break.

"What about that Eren kid?"

"Who, Jaeger?"

"Yeah."

"… _Why_ ," Jean sneered.

"Because we need a drummer, Kirk."

"But why _him?_ "

"If it still sounds like a good idea to me when I'm sober,” she said, “it could work."

Eren lounged on one of the outdoor tables just outside the business building. Armin would be getting out of class in a few hours; he had nothing better to do until then. His economics textbook was laid out open in front of him, the same two pages staring back at him for thirty minutes. He’d read four times, but hadn’t processed. He couldn’t concentrate.

_Focus, Eren._

He sat up in his seat and turned back to the beginning of the chapter. This was one small step in a long journey, and it was sophomore year now. He absolutely refused to quit.

To help center himself, Eren began to tap one of his drumsticks against the edge of the table. It flipped over his fingers and back under, bouncing sharp against chipped hard plastic. He felt his heart rate slow down and match the beat of Chad Valley’s “Shell Suite,” which he’d had playing in his head for nearly a week.

_Chapter Six: Competitive Markets for–_

“Hey.”

It was only then that Eren noticed the shadow of a figure over him and his textbook. A hand forced the bill of his hat to the front. The blood began to boil in Eren’s system, an automatic response only one person had trained him to feel, and Eren did not appreciate the way he’d turned into Pavlov’s fucking dog in this scenario.

He turned, seething, teeth nearly bared. “What the fuck do y–”

But where he’d been expecting Jean Kirschtein, there stood a giant woman, dark bare arms prominently muscled and folded across her chest. The shadows made her seem even darker but her eyes shone bright, sharp and thin as she stared him down.

She blew her gum into a wide pink bubble. When it popped, Eren swore he sensed the temperature plummet.

“Crap,” he said, “I’m sorr–”

“You’re Eren Jaeger, right?” she asked, blunt.

Eren briefly thought she’d make a good cop. Her thin upper lip curled just a little when she chewed to show a hint of straight white teeth; he’d almost expected fangs. He wondered if Jean had sent her over to intimidate him, though he had to admit it was working.

“Yes…?” he answered, like he was hardly sure himself.

At that, a grin split her face. Her knuckles cracked. Eren swallowed over the cold lump of fear in his throat. If it was money she wanted, she’d have to make do with two singles and a five dollar bill since that was all he had, but he’d gladly hand over his wallet in exchange for his life.

He was ashamed of the octaves that rose in his voice as he added, “You need something?”

“Yeah,” she said, snapping her gum. “I need a drummer.”

“Oh,” Eren said.

Maybe he really would live to see graduation.

She gave him a time and a place: Tuesday afternoon at her apartment. Eren, still a bit fearful, agreed to bring over his drums. Once he got to know Ymir, she slipped down on the Terrifying scale from a nine to an eight. A seven and a half when she offered him a drink.

They were the only ones there as he set up in the living room until the other two finally showed. Reiner waved hello to Eren before catching the beer can Ymir had launched his way. Trailing after him, looking significantly smaller next to the wide German, was another student who bore a familiar face.

Eren immediately locked eyes with Jean Kirschtein. Jean Kirschtein, with his stupid coffee hipster clothes, rolled up skinny jeans and pointed boots and face half bundled in a pretentious flowery infinity scarf. And, of course, that goddamn beanie.

"No. _No. NO._ "

"Why?" Ymir frowned.

"He's a dick!" Eren gestured to said dick.

"Look who's talking!" Jean snapped back.

"Oh, that's _so original,_ Jaeger!"

"Eren," Ymir cut in, folding her arms, "don’t fool yourself into thinking nice musicians exist."

There were only so many exceptions.

They managed to convince Eren to stay for just a few practice runs. Jean sat out so the instruments could speak for themselves first: covers, since Jean hadn't finished the song he was writing. Eren found himself really liking the way Ymir’s bass meshed with his drums, and judging by the way Jean nodded every so often, he also approved. Reiner’s sound was also a nice addition – where Ymir tore through the bass line, Reiner never dominated her, but he'd back with enough strength to keep up. 

Then Jean joined in. Jean's voice was like moss and honey and hot sauce, a proud sort of anger with vulnerability ringing underneath. He kept himself open just a little, Eren noticed, just enough.

It was only then that Eren agreed to join the band.

After deciding that a derivative of "Kirschtein" couldn't be pronounced correctly and after concluding that "Jaeger" was too good a name to pass up, the band decided to dub themselves The Jaegerbombs. Ymir and Reiner grouped up to draw their logo in crayons while Jean and Eren played tic-tac-toe on a whiteboard with Smirnoff shots to the loser.

In a month, they had T-shirt, two gigs, and a local fanbase.

Not much later, Jean dropped out of college.

He'd sat on the decision for about a week. It had nothing to do with the band. In fact, the band was the only thing that seemed to be making things easier. Courses proved to be unmanageable, his grades were dropping too low to recover, and he wasn't getting anything worthwhile out of his lessons. It felt like high school all over again – all he was doing was learning the same old shit he still couldn't grasp.

Jean hadn't found his direction in life. Eventually, he'd thoroughly convinced himself he should wait until he did.

Reiner kept up his studies, Ymir was set up to graduate early – how she'd managed that while predominantly unsober, Jean would never be able to guess – and Eren only stayed in school because Mikasa, his adopted sister, insisted he finish his economics degree, and he agreed that he needed to graduate with something and that changing majors now would only create more problems. That meant thanks to Eren’s determination to keep up with his studies, their times to meet and practice were slim to none. Jean managed to catch Eren coming out from class one day and tugged on his backpack to get him moving.

Eren’s glare shot daggers. "The hell, man?"

"Jaeger, we haven't practiced in two weeks. I haven't seen you up close for several days."

"Yeah?" Eren shrugged. "Spring term's almost over, lay off."

"Come over today," Jean said sharply, shoving Eren's backpack out of his grip so he could stalk off and look at least half as angry as he felt. "Or we'll find a new drummer."

Eren snapped, "I'm the name of the fucking band, idiot."

He showed up anyway, pacing in front of Jean's apartment door at four in the afternoon when he answered. Eren cursed and barreled his way in, grabbing a lukewarm beer from the coffee table and dropping his backpack at the foot of the couch.

"Where're the others?"

Jean's shoulders rose and fell noncommittally. "I think Ymir figured you wouldn't show, so she set up a date with that little blonde waitress from The Rose. Dunno where Reiner is."

"Waste of my time, then."

Jean placed himself in front of the door before Eren could even think of getting up to leave. "The whole band doesn't have to be here for us to practice. Besides, you've been prepping for finals, right? Settle down for once or you'll blow a goddamn fuse."

"And then what?"

"And then we won't have our Jaegerbomb. Or we will. Y’know. I _did_ say you might blow a fuse. There’s a brilliant joke in there somewhere."

Eren rolled his eyes at Jean's dumb chuckle and cracked open a beer. Jean stuck with Smirnoff and fell onto the couch cushion beside him.

"So," Jean said.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Eren huffed a laugh and drank, scanning Jean's apartment. Not especially decorative, but not quite minimalist either; earth tones with the occasional pop of teal or soft yellow. And while most objects in the front room were scattered about with little attention to their placement, his living space was fairly tidy, Eren realized. It was only when Ymir was over that everything shuffled around. Jean had never shown any indication of minding her constant rearranging of his stuff.

"Still working on that one song?" Eren asked him.

"Hm?" Jean was startled by the breaking of silence.

"Ymir said you were writing a song."

"Ah? Yeah. What about it?"

"You done?"

Jean shook his head, eyes softening a couple degrees. "Not yet."

Eren's gaze fell to the small, thick notebook on the coffee table, open to reveal some scribblings. The pages curled with the thick, hard indents of Jean's scrawly handwriting. "Hey, is this it?" He launched forward to pluck it from the table. He barely managed to read a word or two before the notebook was snatched from his hands.

"Don't."

"Dude, I just want to see what you–"

" _Don't_ ," Jean clipped.

"All right, all right. Sheesh, dude." Eren raised his hands in defensive surrender. "But if you're writing it for us, we'll see it eventually. Just saying."

Jean swallowed and flipped back several pages in the notebook. Eren could've sworn his hands were shaking. A trick of the light, maybe.

"I have another one, though. It's pretty much done."

"Oh?" Eren took a gulp of beer. "Let's hear it."

"The lyrics are the way I want them, but…" Jean shrugged, waving his hand in circles. "I don't know yet what it's supposed to sound like."

Eren studied him for several moments. The sharp, lean lines of Jean's face and narrow, hazel eyes and dark, thin brows. The bleached upper half of his hair, most of which was smothered by an old beanie that looked like it had sat there for years. Then, the resigned, unreadable expression in place of the smug grin he normally wore.

"Let's figure it out, then."

Jean blinked owlishly at him. "What?"

Eren made a face. "We're gonna practice, right? So? Let's practice. You got a guitar around?"

"Uh. Yeah, it's next to your side of the couch. I didn't know you played."

"Badly," Eren muttered as he carefully retrieved it. He plucked a few chords, tuned, plucked again and turned knobs. "I took guitar lessons before I realized drums were my calling."

He idly strummed “Sea of Love” until Jean perked up and told him to move one chord a flat lower. Something in the way it sounded brought out the luminescence in Jean's eyes, so Eren began to improvise while Jean gave the yay or nay to various chords. Jean scribbled them down as fast as possible.

"Okay," he said distractedly as he flipped his notebook open. "Play that."

Eren went slowly through the chords and looped them over and over. The more he played it, the more he liked the melody and the more he picked up the pace with confidence. Then Jean added his voice and a set of lyrics wavy with uncertainty.

 

_Why did we stop, why did we stop_

_Measuring the space between us_

_By the notches on your belt?_

_You were so close to me,_

_And I thought you felt it too_

 

_Why did you go, why did I go_

_When we were just about to make it there_

_With cards that we'd been dealt?_

_I was so close to you,_

_And I thought I felt it too_

 

Eren kept the chords going as smoothly as possible, fearing that if he were to break rhythm, Jean would stop singing. They went over the two stanzas a number of times before Jean, and even Eren, was pleased with them. 

"Chorus," Jean murmured, scribbling something down on the chord sheet. Eren shifted into the phrases they'd organized for the refrain.

 

_But your bones, they're fashioned glass_

_And my skin, my skin's just ash_

_That devil in the night was never_

_Meant for you_

_And I'd take it all back in two_

_But our time passed_

 

Jean stopped there, which only left Eren feeling tugged on. It didn’t feel solved. Jean had said he'd finished it. But when he lifted his gaze to Jean, he watched the notebook close with a soft crinkle of pages. 

"I like it," Jean said with a nod. "We can keep working on it."

"Right now?"

He gave a small shake of his head. "No. That's good enough for now."

Eren returned the guitar to its rightful place. Unbelievably, at least an hour had passed. His stomach chose to announce itself at that moment, and luckily for them it broke enough of the tension between them that they could laugh. Eren flipped the TV on while Jean, hungry for Chinese takeout, repeated "beef chow mein, sweet and sour chicken, fried rice" twice into the phone. As he returned, the exasperation visible in the heat of his cheeks, the Star Trek opening was softly fading in.

«These are the voyages…»

"Jaeger, let me tell you, I am so tired of Star Trek."

Eren quirked a brow, but never took his gaze off the screen. The flash of the cerulean title mirrored in his sea green eyes as the music rose. "One does not simply get tired of Star Trek."

"Oh," Jean said with a pout, "So now _you_ like Star Trek, too."

"I watch it when it's on," Eren replied. "My friend Armin, though. If he could, I have no doubts that he would marry Star Trek, Vulcan vows and all.”

“Yeah? Get him to try, I bet there are states where it's legal to marry a TV show.”

“You’re such a wonderful friend, Jean,” Eren snarked behind his beer can.

“Aw, thank you.” Jean placed a hand over his heart. “I’m touched.”

Reiner never showed. Ymir never returned. Jean and Eren fought over who was supposed to pay for takeout – “It’s your place! You host!” “ _You’re_ the freeloader! At least pinch in a few dollars, you weenie.” – and later Eren discovered Jean’s hidden talent for impersonating William Shatner.

“And you say you don’t like Star Trek,” Eren snorted into his chicken, which earned him a noodle to the face.

For the next three hours, they played random Steam games on Eren’s account, cramming close together and sharing Jean’s laptop. Eren was the most passionate about actually winning the game. Jean, who had insisted on getting high before they started, laughed and dicked around while Eren yelled at him for fucking up their score. Their losing streak of Surgeon Simulator ended as Eren stood and took a walk around the room, throwing his hands in the air and giving up completely when Jean succeeded in dumping an entire set of scalpels into the patient’s chest. Eren teased Jean later for screaming during a few attempts of Five Nights at Freddy’s, but neither of them could make it through the first night – not without yelling in terror at the computer screen.

When Ymir showed up to grab Jean for breakfast, she found him sprawled back on the couch with Eren snoring, curled up loosely around Jean’s leg.


	2. where some got loved, some got hated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _in the place that’s made of old relations  
>  where some got loved, some got hated  
> how absently you move around, how [listless](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuwMCy2islQ)_

Jean was still rubbing his eyes and squinting even after having had several sips of a scalding salted caramel latte. Ymir tousled his hair and dragged him over to a table.

“Figured you two could use some bonding,” Ymir said.

“Hah?”

“Bonding.”

The statement appeared to be clearing Jean’s head. “Some what?” he clipped.

“Alone time. Shooting the breeze.” Ymir shrugged and pulled the straw out of her drink and used it to carefully shovel whipped cream into her mouth while staring at him expectantly. “I told Reiner not to go to practice so you and Eren could bro it up.”

Jean quirked a brow. “Remember what I told you about smoking this early in the day?”

“Whatever, Kirk. Just thank me eventually when things are better with Eren, okay?”

“I do not need things to be better with Jaeger,” Jean huffed grumpily. He sipped at his latte, then hissed and yelled, “Fucker, that’s hot!”

“Funny how you didn’t notice through half of it."

“Shut up. How did your date go?”

It was like he’d flipped a switch. Ymir fluttered in her seat so heavily that Jean thought she might melt into her frappuccino.

“That good?”

“I came like five times.”

Jean choked on his coffee.

“Her name’s Christa.”

“Don’t you think you should have started with that? God, I never thought you could be this gross. Five is just excessive.”

“She’s an absolute angel. You don’t have to be jealous just ‘cause I’m getting some and you’re not.”

Jean’s brows shot up into his hairline. “I am not having this conversation right now.”

Ymir innocently sipped her frappuccino until her straw sucked obnoxiously at the air lining the bottom of the cup.

“Oh my god,” Jean said. “Oh my _god._ ”

She blinked at him expectantly.

“Were you trying to set me up with fucking Jaeger last night?”

Ymir sat up in her seat. A grin slowly spread across her face. “What if I told you I did when I really didn’t, but it totally worked out that way?”

“I hate you,” Jean said.

“It was a happy accident.”

“Friendship revoked.”

“You guys were so fucking cute all tangled up on the couch. In a repulsive kind of way.”

“ _T’hy’la_ revoked.”

“Don’t say such horrible things when I have a picture of it on my phone ready to send to all our closest friends and fans.”

Jean paled and visibly attempted – and also visibly failed – to keep his composure. “I don’t believe you.”

“Too bad, because I already did.”

“What.”

Ymir whipped out her phone and set it in front of his face. She had posted to the Jaegerbombs’ Facebook page ten minutes ago. The blood drained further from Jean’s face the more comments he read.

[The photo itself was mortifying](http://majestic-fuckn-eagle.tumblr.com/post/98244995575/fanart-for-juus-wonderful-erejean-fic-paper). Jean’s head was lolled back over the arm of the couch and his mouth was hanging wide open. His beanie had slipped off his neck and buried itself under his shoulder somewhere. Right arm and right leg dangled over the sofa’s edge, fingertips and feet grazing the floor. But it was Eren who only made the photo worse – his boneless arms circled Jean’s thigh and his legs pretzeled around Jean’s calf. The side of his face was squished into Jean’s hip and he might’ve been drooling.

Any closer and he’d be buried nose-deep in Jean’s crotch.

Jean yelped when his pocket vibrated aggressively.

**[5/6/14 9:34 AM] Jaegerbomb: youre so fuckin dead**

“Oh no,” he moaned, “I am so fucking dead.”

The matter was settled with pizza and Assassin’s Creed and virtual retribution. Jean came out of it mostly unscathed – only got a few bruises when Eren punched him in the arm for daring to beat him.

The ultimate loser was made to write something crudely self-deprecating on the wall under the park bridge in spray paint. Due to poor planning and unfortunate broad daylight, Eren and Jean yanked their hats and hoodies over their heads and ran from a pursuing police officer, abandoning the barely finished scrawling of "JK has a dick for a face" in neon orange.

The couch photo remained on the Jaegerbombs’ Facebook page, half because Ymir insisted they keep it for posterity’s sake and half because they’d gained over a dozen new fans as a result.

Spring term continued to roll by, and as the end of it drew closer, Jean grew more and more irritable each day. Ymir seemed to be the only one who knew what was wrong with him. Eren couldn’t help but notice how her attitude toward Jean had altered by the end of May; she was marginally gentler with him, and he could tell Reiner had been told about it when he started to occasionally pull Jean aside during practice and ask how he was doing while he thought no one was around to hear. Jean was also perpetually stoned — the smell of it followed him everywhere until it seemed that the weed was simply infused into his personality.

Eren tried, almost desperately, to get a rise out of him. But any snarky comments were received with a shrug as Jean casually laughed it off like it was funny, like it hadn't sunk in, like it had never reached him in the first place.

When the school year ended, Eren got an apartment with Armin, who had managed to land a summer internship up by St. Maria University. This allowed Eren to stay comfortably with the rest of the band, since now the four of them could live in the same building. Jean made sure everyone affiliated was there to see Ymir graduate, though she couldn’t have cared less who attended as long as Christa was there.

Four times a week, the band would pile into Ymir’s car and drive a small distance out of town to Christa’s house. On his days off, Armin tagged along and listened while he typed away at his laptop in the corner. Christa, who lived alone and never mentioned her parents, let them use the garage to practice without neighboring complaints as long as she got to make out with Ymir between sets. Ymir had not yet decided to move in with Christa, but she may as well have, given how often she went over, making spaces for herself here and there until it felt like home.

There was a day in the middle of June when it was loud and obvious that something was wrong with Jean. Eren could feel it in the small silences of his voice, his pauses that had the guitarists fumbling as they tried to work around it. Eren kept his drumbeat steady but hesitant, waiting for the moment when Jean finally did mumble to the rest of them that he needed a break and nearly knocked over the mic stand on his way out of the garage.

Reiner took his guitar with him to the sofa they’d set up in the corner and idly tuned it next to Armin, who had only glanced up from his laptop to see Jean leave. Ymir sighed as she brought the strap over her head and leaned her bass against the wall.

A dull clatter sounded when Eren dropped his drumsticks on the snare drum. “I’m gonna see what’s up with him,” he grumbled, quickly extricating himself from behind the drum set and the couch.

“Eren–”

He ignored Ymir’s following footsteps and jogged out of the garage into Christa’s house. Ymir was calling his name again, both versions, urgent behind him, but beyond it, Eren could hear running water from the bathroom. He bounded up the stairs two at a time.

Ymir was only two paces after Eren, calling back for Reiner, when he reached the bathroom door and knocked his hand against it. “Jean–” he managed before the latch slipped out of the strike plate and forced the door to open. Eren saw Jean’s hunched form over the sink, his head pressed hard against the mirror as he shook and breathed heavy and ragged, right before he noticed the blood on his hands.

“Jean, Jesus Christ–”

“Get out, Jaeger,” he said, voice and body wobbling. The blood thinned, streaked across the alabaster sink bowl, but the running water couldn’t wash it away fast enough.

Eren shoved Ymir’s hand from his shoulder and grabbed Jean’s arm to force him around. Blood flowed to his elbow and dripped a line out of the sink and down to the shiny mint tiles. He’d used his nails to claw open lines on his wrists that hadn’t yet healed. “Oh my god...”

Jean wiped tears away with the side of his hand, which only succeeded in streaking watery blood across one eye and down his nose. “It’s none of your business, Jaeger.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” The smell of iron was awful enough but the _sight_ of it – of the blood under Jean’s nails and the flooded tear at his wrist... Eren felt his throat close up as he stared in horror. “What happened? Why? Why would you hurt yourself?”

“I said it’s none of your business,” Jean growled at him. The blood on his eyes made his expression all the more mad, sickly and wild against pale, sweat-beaded skin. “I don’t need to tell you jack shit!”

“Eren, I need you to leave,” Ymir said, stern and composed, but Eren could only freeze where he stood. Jean was sobbing and bleeding from his wrists and Ymir knew, she’d _known_ about this.

“I told you,” Jean mumbled to her, trembling, curling around himself until he had never appeared so small. “I told you I couldn’t do practice today, I can’t, not today...”

“Jean, you should have told me about this, we could’ve held off practice,” Eren said, concern crinkling deep in his brow. “You told Ymir, you told Reiner, it’s not fair to be selective–”

Jean held his wrist and pushed past Ymir out of the bathroom, keeping blood off the floor as he stalked out the front door and slammed it behind him. Reiner was already on it, heading outside to catch up.

Ymir briefly returned her attention to Eren.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Before Eren could give an answer he didn’t have, Ymir grabbed a towel and ran out to find Jean and Reiner.

Despite Eren’s insistence on cleaning up, Christa demanded he sit on the closed toilet seat while she swept the blood away and talked to him. Eren wasn’t sure what to say or where to begin – were he alone, he'd be pacing in circles and cursing colorfully at himself. Christa was first to break the silent tension.

“You know what you did wrong, right Eren?” Her tone made her sound like a preschool teacher gently scolding an unruly toddler. While it was calming, it also made him feel horrible. Which he knew he probably deserved.

Eren hung his head, propped his elbows on his knees, and let his hat drop to the floor so he could push his fingers into his hair, as if he could comb out the horrid parts of him that had made him blow up at Jean like that. Then he nodded and said aloud, “Yeah. I think.”

Christa watched him through the mirror. The cleaning supplies she’d chosen to use burned far more strongly in Eren’s senses.

“Yeah,” he said again, “Fuck, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. I probably fucked up the band.”

“No, you didn’t,” Christa said softly. “The band will be fine.”

Eren let the pause carry before he asked, “How?”

Christa turned to him, propping her back to the sink while she idly dried her hands with a creamy pink towel. “I know it hasn’t been a long time, but… Do you think you’re the only one who put your soul into what the four of you are doing?” Her blue eyes, striking as they flitted up to meet his own, startled Eren. “Reiner’s more outgoing than he was when I first met him. Ymir’s always telling me about you guys. Retells a lot of stuff even though I know what happened because I was there. She’d feel useless without it.”

“And Jean?”

“He’s been off for most of the time that I’ve known him in person. I can’t speak for him,” she replied, kneeling to the blood splotches on the floor. “But if I know anything about what he’s going through mentally, it’s something that will heal with the right care.”

“Yeah, well, I fucked that up,” Eren grumbled.

“You’re stuck,” Christa said firmly, “because you’re focusing too much on what you did. You can’t change it now. You can’t take back what you said to him.”

Eren chewed on his tongue. On the inside he was made of knots, his chest aching with the tightest knot left by his own regret. He knew he might panic at the mere thought of facing Jean.

“Then... what do I do now?”

“Jean needs time. He’s always needed time. Kind of like a clam. You pried too much to open him up, so he can’t really trust you, not yet. He’ll probably keep himself closed off for a while.” Christa cleaned thoroughly but delicately, managing to reach even the spaces between the tiles on the floor with her efforts to be meticulous. “Don’t think he’s going to forgive you after the first apology. But don’t give up after that, or he’ll stop thinking you’re worth his attention.”

Eren had hardly thought about himself as being worth Jean’s attention.

Jean was just... there, and wasn’t he the same for Jean? Just there? A space that existed behind him to keep rhythm?

But now that he mulled it over, it was hard to forget Jean didn’t have many friends. Reiner was often away with someone, Ymir had Christa, and the three of them shared a small circle of college acquaintances, but Jean? Eren had never seen him keep company with anyone else.

Fuck, bringing Armin to every other session was practically like rubbing it in Jean’s face.

He dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Eren hadn’t considered any of this, but Jean probably thought about it constantly. Add that to the checklist of Things Eren Jaeger Fucks Up Daily.

“Also,” Christa added as she finished. Though the tiles were spotless, the molding between them was still tinged here and there with some traces of red. “You can mend the wounds you created, but don’t expect to be able to heal the wounds that caused this for him in the first place. It’s not about you. The most you can do is help him where he needs you to.”

Eren examined the spot where the blood had once been, then dragged his gaze to his wringing hands. “You sound like you know a lot about this stuff.”

“Depression?”

“Yeah. Hell, I didn’t know people still cut nowadays.”

Christa nodded. “You’d be surprised.” She dried her hands and stepped forward. “I don’t know the specifics of Jean’s condition, but I can recognize the basics.”

“What do you see?”

“Loss,” she replied. “Something he can’t forget. Something he feels guilty about.”

Eren swallowed. Christa’s gaze shone somewhat hollow, the features of her face shadowed by blonde curtains of hair that blocked the overhead lamp as she stared down at him. Though Christa stood almost a foot shorter than him in height, he felt small, scrutinized, in her presence. An angel in more ways than one.

And now, as he processed her words, Eren remembered what Jean had said to Ymir before running outside. He hadn’t wanted to practice today. _Today,_ specifically.

He wanted to ask Christa what had happened to her, but he had a feeling it wasn’t his concern. He had pried too much already into other peoples’ business.

“Are you going to be okay?” Eren asked her instead.

Christa took a seat on the edge of the nearby bathtub.

“Yeah. I’ll be okay. In some ways, I already am, I think.”

“Because of Ymir?”

Christa nodded. “She keeps me in the present. Now, I don’t even think about all that stuff back then. I don’t need to.” She blinked, looking at Eren, finally gracing him with her trademark warm smile that could part clouds, probably. “Stop thinking about the past, Eren. Jean’s past is something he needs to deal with himself – all you can change are his present and his future.”

Eren processed, sighed softly. “How do I do that?”

“Be a friend,” she said. “Listen, understand, take what he tells you and find out how to help him cope. Heal, even. He’s got scars. Don’t ask about them, but don’t erase them. Just get him to keep going.”

Eren swallowed.

“And what if he doesn’t want to keep going?”

Christa plucked his hat up from the floor, dusted it off, turned it over in her hands. Then she handed it back to him. Eren stared at it, conflicted.

“That’s for you to figure out,” she said. Her voice grew stern then, commanding Eren’s attention. “But after what you’ve done today? What you said? That’s another scar on him. One you made. You’re not allowed to give up.”

Before Eren could give her a nod, the front door clicked shut and footsteps shuffled outside the bathroom. He listened for a while, then perked up as the bathroom door opened. Reiner poked his head in.

“Ymir’s taking Jean upstairs to the other bathroom to get him patched up,” he said. “Then she’ll take him home. She’ll come back for us when she’s done.”

“Should I stay in here?”

Reiner shrugged and looked at the floor. “Probably, dude.”

An hour passed before Ymir’s car pulled into the driveway again. Reiner slipped into the front seat while Eren and Armin piled into the back. No one said a word. The radio was quiet. The drive felt excruciatingly long and never had Eren wanted to snap his own neck more than he did at that moment.

They went for two weeks without another practice session. Eren holed himself up in his apartment with Armin and texted Reiner occasionally to ask how things were going. There wasn’t much to update about Jean, though Reiner said Ymir was checking every other day to make sure he was alive and well.

Eren had lied, before. It _was_ possible to get tired of Star Trek.

And it wasn’t even about Star Trek anymore, it had nothing to do with Armin, it was just the uniqueness of Jean’s company that he’d never, until now, realized was so good. For him and, he hoped, for Jean, too.

Jean was like a rock. Yeah, sure, a sourly pessimistic rock, but something steady and constant, and before, he would’ve hated to admit that was nice. Now, Eren felt sick, because he might as well have lined that rock up under a jackhammer and let it go.

A week into July, Eren was bored to tears. Every day, he practiced the song they had written together in Jean’s living room, but it didn’t feel right. Without the words, without Jean’s voice, it wasn’t the same.

Tuesday night. Eren was about to take fresh clothes with him so he could change after his shower, only to realize he had none left. He never did laundry at night, but Armin had already been nagging him to fix the situation in the corner: a sad basket, now overflowing. Eren gathered his clothes into a heap.

He emerged from his room with clothes, detergent, and a credit card. Armin glanced up from his spot on the couch.

“ _Finally_.”

“Can’t you go be patronizing somewhere else?” Eren grimaced. Right now, trying to open the door with his foot wasn’t working out as well as he’d hoped.

Armin smiled over his laptop. “I don’t change for just anyone, Eren.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Don’t take too long, I’m going to bed soon.”

“Mm,” Eren affirmed. He managed to jar the door open, then nudged it the rest of the way with his hip.

Halfway down to the building laundromat, Eren already wanted to rip his shirt off. July nights boiled – he loved heat, but not this much. By the time he reached the machines, Eren felt as out of shape as a man beginning his midlife crisis.

Laundry piled in. Detergent poured into the top. Settings altered to warm water, medium soil. He slid his card into the slot and pulled it out as the machine beeped loudly, angrily at him.

[TRY AGAIN]

[TRY AGAIN]

[TRY AGAIN]

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Eren slammed his fist on the top of the machine and tried several more times. He kicked it once. The machine lived on, but rejected his card again and again.

The laundry room door opened – thank god, maybe he could borrow someone else’s card and pay them back later, because Eren was _not_ going to bring all his clothes back upstairs until they were washed.

“Hey–”

Jean stood in the doorway, empty basket in his tight hands, eyes wide, body stiff and petrified and unmoving like a wax statue.

Then he turned and bolted, dragging the basket with him.

Eren yanked the door open “Jean!” he called after him. “If you leave, I’m gonna hold your clothes hostage.” He watched Jean pause, fingers clenching and unclenching and tapping at his sides.

“Motherfucker,” Jean growled as he came back and barreled past Eren into the laundry room. He opened the dryer with his laundry and started to pull clothes out. The soft, hot smell of detergent and fabric softener permeated the remaining space in the room, discordant amid the tension between them. “I do laundry on Tuesday nights to avoid people. What do you want now?”

“Jean, it’s been almost three weeks–”

“I can fucking count, Jaeger–”

“Just listen to me!” Eren pleaded.

“No! You listen to me,” Jean barked, slamming the dryer door shut again with a clang like thunder. Eren couldn’t miss the wet shine in his eyes. “I’ve got some problems, okay? I know that. I’ve known that my whole goddamn life, and I’ve learned to live and deal. It’s hard, but I fucking do it myself. I don’t need you prying into my shit, got it? I don’t _need_ you opening up old wounds, so fuck you.”

“I’m sorry. Fuck. I’m really sorry.” Eren’s throat felt tight. “I’m shit at this. I don’t know how to deal with this, Jean.”

“That’s not my problem.” Jean opened the washing machine again and pulled out more clothes. “And my problems aren’t yours to deal with.”

“I’m sorry,” Eren breathed. He shook a little, but clenched his fingers around his declined credit card. “I’m horrible, you know that enough. I’ll write you a coupon for seventy slaps to the face and a kick to the balls for good measure, because I’m the worst dick, all right?”

“Yeah.” Jean stopped for a beat, and then his movements seemed calmer, more controlled. As he carried a pile from the dryer to his basket, Jean’s sleeve pinched up to reveal a short circle of bandages around his wrist.

“Are those...?”

Jean followed Eren’s gaze. He took a deep, measured breath. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to point out someone’s scars?”

“Well at this point, I know already, so...” Eren shoved his hands into his pockets nervously. “Can I... Can I see them?”

Jean gnawed on his lower lip. After a few moments, he grumbled and reluctantly nodded. He stepped around his laundry basket and came up to him, tugged his sleeve down and carefully unwrapped his arm. The gauze looked fresh – and so did the lines underneath, blooming scarlet and muddy across his wrist and splotched against the bandage.

Eren stared, brows furrowed. He’d never be able to understand how cutting made someone’s pain feel better. But he wanted to try. Not just so he could make up for what he’d said to Jean before, but for Jean. “You’re still...”

“Yeah.”

“I... I hate to see you keep doing this to yourself.”

Jean started to wrap them up again. “It’s not fucking about you.”

“... You’re right.” Eren nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Jean’s jaw sharpened as he clenched his teeth. He returned to the dryer and pulled out the last of his clothes.

“Hey,” Eren said, “can I borrow your card? The machine’s not taking mine.”

Jean tossed it to him.

“Thanks.” He slipped it in and out, and the machine beeped loudly, but pleased. He pressed the Start button and waited for the cycle to start before he handed the card back to Jean, who shoved it in his front pocket.

“So...” Eren muttered, “are the Jaegerbombs still on?”

Jean stared at Eren as if he had just turned into a giraffe. “Of course we are, are you nuts?”

 _We._ Eren hung onto that word for dear life.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jean sighed, eyes glued to his own shuffling feet. “We can’t split up over something like this. I mean sure, we had a fight and all, but I guess it wasn’t all that terrible. There are just things I’m not ready to talk about. I’m trying to move on... We can move on.”

“Did Ymir tell you to say that?”

“Not those exact words, but... she helped. As much as she's capable of helping.”

Jean smiled a little, and Eren smiled back, relieved, and then Jean _laughed_. Jean’s laughter after almost three weeks felt like a tall glass of water.

“... I want _two_ kicks to the balls on that coupon you offered,” Jean said.

Eren snorted, hopping up onto the washing machine. “We can negotiate.”

For half an hour, they sat in the laundry room and talked about everything else. Eren told him about what it was like to live with Armin, who was amiable and quiet for the most part until something exciting happened with work that had him rambling endlessly about business strategies and professional jargon Eren could never hope to understand. Eren then piled his wet clothes into the dryer and they stayed for another hour as he showed Jean the basics of drumming. The sticks banged tinny against the white metal. Jean attempted a few twirls. Eren nearly kicked him in the head for almost losing a drumstick behind the washing machine.

Jean told him about how he’d stopped smoking weed for a week, not to kick the habit, but more to see if he could cope without it. He’d replaced smoking with gaming and spent all his days angry and determined to achieve higher and higher scores on Flappy Bird. Then Jean pulled out his phone and showed Eren how to play. A few minutes in, Jean had to grab his phone back before Eren threw it across the room in a fit of rage.

“Yeah, it’s fucking tough, man,” Jean said. “Reiner keeps kicking my ass and texting me about it. I can’t hold a score over him. This app’s horrible, too, they took it off the stores once.”

Eren was still vibrating a little with frustration. “But I feel like you’re totally reversing the idea of replacing the weed. You quit smoking, which helps you mellow out, and then start playing this piece of shit game that’s only gonna get you worked up. The fuck is that all about?”

Jean laughed as the dryer beeped. “There’s a crappy logic in there somewhere.”

He watched from his perch on the machine as Eren pulled out his warm clothes and tossed them into his laundry basket. Once Jean was ready, they both headed upstairs to their rooms. Eren’s was first in the hallway. He set his basket down and reached into his pocket. First one, then the other, then the rest.

“Fuck, I think I forgot my keys.”

“Knock, dude.”

“Shit, Armin’s asleep. He said he’d be going to bed early tonight.”

“Call him and make him let you in.”

“He turns off his phone when he sleeps.”

“What kind of fucker...” Jean muttered. “Wait, what are you doing?”

Eren tipped over his laundry basket, spilling his clothes onto the floor outside the door. Then he planted himself on top of the pile and pulled two hoodies over himself.

“What– Are you gonna sleep there?”

“It’s warm enough. Goodnight, Jean.”

Jean held his own basket in one arm and put a hand on his hip. “Dude, it would be fine if you were drunk and it was the weekend, but it’s a fucking Tuesday night. There’s no excuse for this.”

“What do you want me to do instead?”

“You can crash on my couch for the night, c’mon.”

Eren peeked an eye open. “Seriously?”

“ _Yes_ , seriously. Get your ass up off the floor, pick up your clothes, let’s go. You look like a sad hobo and I don’t want anyone associating me with you.”

Jean led Eren into his apartment and gave him his couch, as promised. Eren’s stomach wasn’t yet unknotted, but it had loosened a great deal. He wasn’t clear yet whether Jean had forgiven him, but they were getting there, hopefully. If Jean was readily willing to keep the band together, things were looking up. He wasn’t even sure if he deserved Jean’s forgiveness right now, or ever, but he’d do his hardest to keep it.

Eren slept far better that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
>  *** warning **: there is a brief, somewhat graphic depiction of self harm in this chapter. read with caution.****   
> 


	3. when the evening pulls the sun down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _when the evening pulls the sun down,  
>  and the day is almost through,  
> oh, the whole world it is sleeping,  
> but my world is [you](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eeuI-EzhYUA)_

By August, the Jaegerbombs were back on.

Two gigs a week at the bar on 104th Street, one gig every other week at The Rose through Christa’s connections, and almost daily practice that often resulted in drunken sleepovers. Jean seemed to be back to normal, if anything was to be judged by the way Ymir teased him again. Playful fists flew to leave pale, forgiving bruises and matters of debate were settled over cheap bets. Next to the covers they performed, the group composed more original songs, building off Eren’s experimental drum beats and various melodies provided by guitar from anyone else. Ymir was dead set on composing a passionate, terrifying rock ballad – a work in progress.

Still, Eren couldn’t help but feel that things weren’t okay yet – something was off, Jean was emotionally guarded, and Eren didn’t want to keep going much longer without resolving things with him.

Jean still wore long sleeves in the hottest months of the year. It was hard not to notice and even harder not to ask about it.

Every week, the Jaegerbombs allowed themselves one full day off to do nothing. If they weren’t ordering pizza and watching old kung-fu movies together in Jean’s apartment, Ymir slept in until the late afternoon and Reiner disappeared entirely (there was a bet going to guess whether he had a sibling or a secret lover).

Today was one of those days. Normally, Eren used this time to catch up with Armin, but for the past few days Armin had been away at a business conference through his internship.

When Jean answered the door with crusty eyes and fucked-up hair, head poking out suspiciously from behind the door, Eren had to stifle a laugh. 

“Fuck off, shithead. It’s eight a.m., what do you want?”

“It’s eleven.”

“Before noon. Still too damn early.”

“I have spaghetti.”

Jean squinted at him. “With meatballs?”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“That’s debatable,” Jean said. “Come in.”

He stepped back to let Eren inside. Eren tried and failed to keep himself from glancing at Jean’s wrists – two Ninja Turtles bandaids on his right arm, four on his left. He hoped it was progress. His gaze also briefly flickered to Jean’s Spider-Man boxers as he brought the container to the kitchen.

“Put some clothes on, Jean.”

“Just for that, I won’t.” But he seemed to realize in his dazed state that he’d left his wrists exposed. He rubbed the crust out of his eyes, folded his arms around himself, and joined Eren at the white tiled counter. “So why are you bringing me spaghetti–”

“With meatballs–”

“–at eight–”

“Eleven.”

“Whatever. What’s with the food?”

Eren shrugged. “I made more than I can eat by accident. Armin’s out of town, so the rest’ll just sit in my fridge otherwise.”

Part of it was a lie, but a half-truth was better than nothing. He’d been doing some research. Depression tended to affect appetite; Jean was pretty thin and never spoke up about his own hunger, eating only when the others ordered food. Eren had started to assume Jean didn’t cook for himself with anything that involved more than a microwave.

“Just as good, I guess,” Jean mumbled. “All the food I’ve got is frozen.”

Eren made him agree to at least put on a shirt before they ate. While Jean was gone, he put together the spaghetti and served it into two bowls, leaving a smaller container for Jean to keep in the fridge. Eren brought their food to the couch and flipped on the TV, twirling spaghetti around his fork.

The noodles fell back into the bowl when Eren paused, staring at Jean’s choice of wardrobe.

“If you take more than two seconds to answer, I know you’re lying – did Ymir give you that shirt?”

“Uh,” Jean said.

“Oh my god.” Eren held the bowl out to him and left a space on the couch beside himself. “Careful, _please_ don’t get sauce on it.”

Jean huffed and swiped the bowl from him, then plopped onto the couch clad in his Spider-Man boxers and a long-sleeved ochre shirt bearing the familiar delta shape of a Starfleet insignia. “Shut up,” he muttered, “I’m a dreamboat. A poor geek’s dreamboat.”

Eren pulled out his phone. “This is going on Facebook.”

“I’m going to shave off your perfect eyebrows.”

“A compliment _and_ a threat! Nice!”

Jean changed the channel to TLC and stabbed a meatball in half. The screen glowed bright with animated sparkles and a woman in a bridal gown carefully wiping tears from her eyes.

“Oh god,” Jean said.

“What?” Eren huffed defensively. “ _Say Yes to the Dress_ is actually pretty addictive.”

“No, the food,” Jean moaned with his mouth full. “Anyone ever tell you how good you cook? You’re an angel, Eren. A spaghetti angel.”

“Thank my mom for that.”

They stuck it out through one _Say Yes to the Dress_ and two episodes of _I Found the Gown._ Eren was most invested in the drama between the bride-to-be and her guests; Jean ate his spaghetti and meatballs and critiqued each dress as it appeared. When _Long Island Medium_ began to play, Jean changed the channel to _Chrisley Knows Best_ and asked for more food.

Over the course of two hours, Jean slowly wolfed his way through the entire container of spaghetti. He sprawled himself across half the couch, legs hanging over the armrest as he groaned at the ceiling.

“I’m never eating anything for the rest of my life. Don’t ever cook for me again.”

Eren smirked and wiggled his perfect brows. “I thought I was your spaghetti angel.”

Jean shielded his eyes from the overhead light. “Can I have one of those kick-to-the-balls coupons you promised me so you know how I’m doing right now? I feel like I ate Jupiter.”

“We only agreed on one kick to the balls,” Eren chuckled, sifting his fingers shallowly through the short ash blond tufts of Jean’s hair. Jean didn’t complain, only leaned his head in with a feline motion. “How are you feeling?”

“If I move I’ll probably throw up on you, just a warning.”

“No,” Eren snorted. “I mean, uhm... How are you feeling?” He paused, worrying his lip with his teeth, then added, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Jean took a deep breath. Eren watched his chest rise and fall. Jean slid his hands up his face and over his hair, pushing up his bangs and brushing his knuckles against Eren’s fingertips.

“I’m okay,” he said.

“...I’m going to be honest, I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Jean shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Just... ‘okay’ makes it sound like you don’t care.”

“I don’t know,” he said again. His voice was flat, sitting low in his throat. “I don’t know if I care. I don’t know what I care about... You know?”

“Not really,” Eren muttered. Sometimes he thought he had the opposite problem – Armin told him once he cared too much, which wasn’t necessarily bad – it was just something Eren was aware of about himself. He’d care too much and say the wrong thing and then care too much about having said it and trying to fix it. “Are we still...?”

Jean craned his neck back to stare at him, long lashes stark over hazel eyes. He wrinkled his brows and raised one. “Still what?”

Eren shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Jean quietly folded his arms over his aching stomach and shifted his body to get comfortable. His gaze darted back to the ceiling and traced the lines of a cobweb in the corner. “...Yeah, dude,” he snorted. “We’re still.”

They changed the channel to a Lifetime movie about a picturesque young couple raising a magical kid. Jean fell asleep as Eren curled his fingers through his hair with the quiet promise that he’d help him figure out how to be a little more than okay.

He hoped he was off to a decent start.

“So,” Ymir said, putting her cards out on the table – literally. A full house under her fingers. Reiner muttered what sounded like a German swear. “I’ve already graduated, but school’s starting in a couple weeks.”

Jean rearranged the cards in his hand and gave a stupid, obnoxious laugh. “Sucks for you guys. I’m a free man.” He laid down his cards in one smooth motion. “Straight,” he said triumphantly.

Ymir snorted. Jean’s smug expression faltered a little.

Eren rolled his eyes. He’d already folded a round ago. “Full house beats straight, dumbass.”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Yeah, really. Reiner, what’ve you got?”

“A nice stack of nothing,” Reiner grumbled. He threw his cards down and pushing the pot of crumpled bills and quarters towards Ymir’s growing pile. She and Reiner were just about tied now, despite the fact that Reiner’s affinity with difficult German rules gave him an advantage in American poker. Jean and Eren were stuck with a pittance each — enough to buy them a two-piece Twix and a can of Arizona from the downstairs vending machine if they pooled their money together.

Ymir gathered her winnings close into a hug, then began to iron out the bills between her fingers and neatly organized them by worth. She held three of the four ten-dollar bills that had been floating around the pool from person to person. Christa, cross-legged beside her, collected the coins and counted them. They had been switching places from time to time depending on the hand they got. No one could figure out what their system was.

“So,” she said, “as I was saying. Since we’ve got two out of four going back to school really soon, we need to do what we haven’t done all summer.”

“I feel like you have something specific in mind,” Eren said with an edge of unease.

“I got us a gig down at Sina Beach.” 

“Oh no,” Jean moaned.

“We’re going swimming!” Ymir grinned, freckles spreading over her cheeks. “And, y’know, playing our songs and shit like that. But also swimming!”

Reiner chuckled and quirked a brow at Jean. “Not a swimmer, huh?” 

“I like swimming just fine,” Jean huffed. “It’s not the swimming, it’s the beach and the summer and the sun. I burn easy. Get me several layers of SPF 50 and maybe I won’t burst into flames.”

“I have SPF 75,” Christa quipped.

“Are you serious?” Jean blinked. “Does that even exist?”

Poker was soon abandoned, more or less, as Christa and Jean bonded over their mutual penchant for sunburn. Ymir complained that she might not get to see her girlfriend in a cute bikini unless she was lathered from head to toe in sunscreen. Jean grumbled that one of his main reasons for moving further up the coast was the overcast sweater weather. Then again, Jean’s plan had included the assumption that he’d go home over summer break to avoid any semblance of heat.

“I don’t burn,” Eren said to mildly enter the conversation. “I only tan.” 

“Wow, Jaeger, you’ve got it so rough,” Jean mocked, settling Eren’s slight nerves only when his lips curled into a smirk.

In return, Eren smiled. “Hope we don’t mistake you for a lobster and toss you onto the grill.”

“Oh, you asshole.”

Ymir, who also only tanned, high-fived him.

When they arrived at the outdoor venue a week later, Eren nearly fell out of Reiner’s truck on his way to scramble for the stage steps.

“Dude, this is awesome!” he yelled, voice dulled by the roar of waves and the static of a salty wind. He waved his arm in a big circle. “C’mon, you guys gotta see this!”

The stage was wide, Jean thought, and taller than he’d expected. As he jumped out of the truck and followed Eren’s trail, his jaw nearly dropped. Black sand-sprinkled stage, gleaming metal beams crisscrossed up to the lightbulbs adorning the top of the proscenium, and – Jean joined Eren at upstage center – a nice vinyl backdrop printed with their logo: a skull with a bomb fuse, the product of Ymir and Reiner’s shared imaginations.

“I might cry, dude,” Jean said. “Don’t tell anyone I cried.”

“Already tweeting about it.”

The band met with the fans (and fellow St. Maria students) who had set them up with the venue – Sasha, a petite excitable girl sporting a ponytail and expressive features, and Connie, a bald kid with such a permanent grin and smile-wrinkled eyes that he looked like he’d never experienced sadness. Together, Sasha and Connie helped run a surf shop a little further down the shore. They showed Reiner where to hook everything up and only stopped talking to take a breath or two while Ymir and Christa unloaded the truck.

Jean and Eren still stood in the middle of the stage, eyes fixed with wonder at their backdrop banner.

“Do you think this means we made it?” Jean said in a close whisper.

Eren said nothing, simply traced with his gaze the pale red letters of their band name and the steel blue of the skull’s hollowed eyes. He’d been getting used to the free time they had in the summer to devote to nothing more than the band, but _this..._ this was something even bigger.

It meant something. And to Jean, it must have meant a lot, too.

Jean reached back to twist the bill of Eren’s snapback to the front.

“I think _I_ made it,” Eren said finally. “My name’s in there and everything. I’m going to be famous.”

“Oh my god,” Jean yelled, wrestling an arm around Eren’s neck and yanking the hat down. “Shut up for one damn second, Jaeger!”

Eren laughed and growled and tried to regain his ground. “You asked me a question, dumbass!”

The show wasn’t to start for another hour and a half, and the beach, for the most part, bore only a few scattered beachgoers spread out on towels. The Jaegerbombs changed into their swimsuits in the meantime, borrowing a spare supply room courtesy of the surfboard rental stand. It was farther from the truck but it would give them some privacy to change. Jean emerged a time after in green swim trunks, white legs still creamy from thick sunscreen, and the black long-sleeved swim shirt he’d had on under the thin tee. Eren quietly assumed he had at least two reasons for wearing it.

Ymir held her arms out for Christa, who had insisted on liberally coating her dark, freckled skin with enough spray-on sunblock to leave her dripping. In her horribly pale cutoff shorts and baggy sleeveless hoodie, Ymir was a sight that only those who loved her unconditionally would ever willingly behold. She whistled and catcalled at the sight of Jean baring his legs. Jean threw a handful of sand at her that the wind blew right back in his face.

Eren had Armin with him to help put his drum set together at center stage. The sun burned Eren’s eyes and brought a beady sheen of sweat to his forehead, while Armin was lucky enough with shades and blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, and despite skin that could probably be classified as “alabaster,” the heat didn’t seem to bother him. He had come to see the show and support everyone, but he also loved visiting the ocean. With school and intern work keeping him in a tight schedule, he knew he might not get another chance this summer.

“Hey,” Jean said from the ground, folding his arms over the edge of the stage. “You guys swimming or what? We’ve got volunteers to do all that for us.”

“I don’t like strangers touching my set,” Eren said with a shrug.

“Whatever you say, Ringo.”

He snorted. “I thought you didn’t like swimming.”

“I already said I do! C’mon, Jaeger.” Jean arched a brow. “Or do you only tan?”

Eren kicked away his flip flops and pulled off his shirt with a wicked grin. “I’ll race you there.”

Armin rolled his eyes, chuckling under his breath. “It was only a matter of time...”

“You’re on!” Jean turned and bolted for the water. Eren jumped off the stage and scrambled for his footing in the loose sand, shouting about how unfair it was that Jean had a head start. They left the sun behind and launched themselves at the ocean ahead. Jean’s feet found the water first, but only by a moment – Eren jumped after him and dove into the oncoming rush.

“I win!” he grinned when he came up, spitting water between his teeth at Jean who stood over him with sea foam lapping at his pale knees.

“You’re fuckin’ nuts, Jaeger,” he said, a sort of fondness playing across his features nonetheless. “I touched the water first. But you get points for enthusiasm.”

“Fine, fine,” Eren sighed. “Help me up.”

Jean offered a hand. Eren took it and tugged, pulling Jean into the water with him. “You bastard! You’ll pay for that!” he yelled, splashing a wave of seawater at Eren who laughed as he stood to dodge it. In no time they were joined by Armin, who came barreling in out of nowhere and tackled Eren into the next wave. Christa at least gave a warning cry before she ran straight in up to her waist. She was followed by Ymir, stripped of her clothes to the suit and shorts underneath, who paused at the shore only to kick water in Jean’s face.

After a while, a few small throngs of people started to arrive at the beach. A number of them even wore Jaegerbombs T-shirts, making it obvious that they were here for the show. The group left the water to dry off, get ready, and greet fans along the way. Ymir had attracted a pack of large, muscled men who wanted autographs and high-fives. Eren was happy to see a couple girls hitting on Armin, who never used to get dates but by now had filled out and matured since high school.

A couple of high, ecstatic voices had Eren looking over to see an embarrassed Jean chatting with a few girls and a couple of guys. They crowded around him and Eren rolled his eyes – they had no idea what they were in for. Jean _looked_ like a charming socialite. But he had the flirting proficiency of an acorn. For the public eye, he was outwardly charismatic and had a warm, winning smile, even Eren was willing to admit that much. Eren, whose natural expression always seemed to hold a frown or a wrinkle in his brow, envied him a little in that respect.

But here, Jean’s smile wavered. He was trying to be nice, yet Eren couldn’t help but notice his body language: raised shoulders, arms tight at his sides, eyes darting as if he was looking for an exit.

Then Eren tuned into the conversation. He only caught a few words, but those words were enough.

_“Did you go swimming today?”_

_“You’re wearing a swimsuit, right? What are you hiding?”_

_“Isn’t it too hot today to be wearing something like that?”_

Eren’s blood boiled. Even as he curtly said hello to a few passing teenagers, he worked hard to keep himself together. He needed someone to hold him back, but Armin was meters away, and Mikasa, miles.

The worst part of it was that Eren knew he had been like that only a few months ago. Prying, intrusive, all-around rude even with decent intentions. Jean didn’t deserve that. Not again.

He took a deep breath. He counted to ten. He ran.

“You’re fine around us, Jean. C’mon, take it off! Show us what you got!”

Jean chuckled nervously. “Well, I sunburn really easy even with sunscreen– _Oh my god_ , who is that–”

Eren only tightened his arm around Jean’s shoulder. “Kirk, let’s go! Ymir wants to talk about our set list.”

Jean eyed him curiously. “Um, ‘Moreover’ is first, we already talked about this. We already talked about our set list like _six times_ –”

“So let’s make it a lucky seven.” Eren tugged. “C’mon, Ymir’s waiting and the heat’s digging into her patience.”

Jean growled, throwing off Eren’s arm. “All right, all right. Jesus, again? That woman can’t make up her mind.” He gave a nervous smile and a wave to the group of disappointed fans. “Sorry guys!” The group waved back, then dispersed.

Eren took him over to the side of the stage. Jean sighed, shoving his hands into his trunks pockets. “You said Ymir was waiting.”

“Oh,” he said, “I lied.”

“Wh-”

“Those fans were making you, like, visibly uncomfortable. Paint SOS on your forehead next time.” Eren looked over at the empty air where the small crowd of prying fans had once stood, then turned back to him. “You okay?”

Jean studied him for a moment; the standard ‘You’re such a fuckass’ retort stirred and died out in his throat. He had to know by now what Eren had been trying to do. It startled him, as Jean had never thought of Eren to be perceptive. That, or Eren could read minds and had heard Jean’s mental cry for help.

“Yeah...” Jean said slowly. “Uh... Thank you.” He stammered and coughed, shuffled his feet, glanced down and away.

Eren shrugged. “No big–”

Jean pushed Eren into the sand and ran off. “You know what that was for!” he shouted.

Eren shook the sand out of his hair. “For lying or for pulling you in?”

“Both!”

Jean’s cheeks were red. Probably from sunburn.

By the time the show was to start, people were waiting and The Jaegerbombs saw neither time nor reason to change out of their swimsuits. The sun hung high and merciless overhead as they started with fan-favorite covers. The speakers played wonderfully over the beach. A few passersby even stopped to listen for a couple songs.

It took a while, but once Jean got into it, the crowd loved him. He held onto the mic stand like a lifeline, fingers curling firm around the shaft as he leaned forward and back and took the whole thing with him. From center stage, it was hard for Eren to see Jean’s face unless he turned to the side, but the rest of his body seemed alive with an electricity he’d never seen, thin legs dominating the stage, arms strong as the black swim shirt clung to his body. Eren fed off Jean’s energy and from then on it was like an alcohol that had his head swimming in the best of ways. He pulled a few tricks with his drumsticks when he had his own couple of solos, more than happy to entertain. With young cheers and salt in the welcome breeze, it was hard not to let a natural smile take over.

The moment Eren knew he would never forget came at the very end of the show. When Jean carried the final note, he punched the air and the crowd before him shot their fists up high. He briefly turned back to Eren, his sunburned cheeks stretched with a wide smile. Eren’s heart flipped into his stomach and he returned it with a grin of his own.

They stayed after the show to greet fans, sell merchandise, and make the most of their time at the beach. Armin and Christa had offered to help run the stand, selling shirts and CDs with sweet smiles. The four Jaegerbombs sat in a row along the side edge of the stage and wolfed down a late lunch – Pixis sandwiches and enough beer to go around a few times. Eren was happy to see Jean eating the whole thing.

“What?” Jean said. Pieces of lettuce stuck out of his mouth.

Eren grinned. “You look funny, horseface.”

Jean’s lip curled to show bread-covered teeth as he gave a muffled neigh and pushed Eren hard enough to make him leery of falling into the sand.

They didn’t remember Reiner leaving, but when he returned he brought a man with him onto the stage. From where they sat on the stage floor, he towered so high that their necks hurt as they craned to look up at him. Despite his size, the guy had a gentle demeanor about him. He half-turned, distressed, muttering something in German to Reiner who replied with a chuckle.

“Guys,” Reiner said with a broad smile, patting the guy on the back until he stumbled forward, “this is my boyfriend, Bertholdt. He offered to help with the sale stand today.”

Eren’s chewed-up sandwich nearly fell out of his mouth. Jean’s jaw dropped a little, and Ymir appeared somewhat impressed. The silence seemed to be making Bertholdt shrink back with nervousness until Jean broke the silence and piped up, “What the fuck, you’re huge!”

“He’s also the secret lover,” Ymir cackled. “Pay up, Kirk. We had a bet.”

“Shit, I was hoping you forgot about that.”

“S-secret lover?!”

After introductions and handshakes, Bertholdt considerably relaxed. He was meek, but getting better at handling fans who came up to pay for merchandise. Christa and Armin said they were grateful for the shade his tall form provided, a comment that finally made him crack a genuine smile.

In a few hours, they closed the stand and packed the rest into the truck. Ymir insisted they stay to swim longer. Reiner, who had spent the morning sunbathing, was happy to join her in the surf to cool off.

Eren and Jean tried their hand at making a castle, a task which proved more difficult than it sounded even with empty lunch containers repurposed as sand molds. Jean built up a pile of damp sand while Eren dug out a moat around it. They took a break every so often, pausing to rest and sit in the sand with their legs in the trench. The wind blew a little stronger now, buffeting their hair against their faces.

“Even though you burn like hell, after today I’ve started to think you’re Superman,” Eren said, knocking against Jean’s shoulder. “You get power from the sun.”

Jean whistled. “Ooh, Superman. Might take that as a compliment.” He gestured to his own torso. “I’ve actually been hiding my red and blue spandex suit under this swim shirt this whole time.”

“Weeell.” Eren shrugged. “Maybe Clark Kent. Since you’re a giant dork.”

“Clark is adorable, I will also take that compliment.” Jean spent the next few minutes trying to curl a piece of his bangs with sandy fingers until they returned to work on the castle.

After an hour, their castle resembled a lumpy cluster of towers and a couple attempts at a wall too dry and stubborn to stay up. Eren carried water from the ocean in the containers and poured it into the moat, then became momentarily distressed when the sand soaked it up. Jean laughed at him until he couldn’t breathe enough to insult him. Eren grabbed a fistful from the top of a sand tower and threw it at his face.

Sasha and Connie joined in on the sand war while the crew they’d hired took apart the stage. Eren teamed up with Connie against Jean, who allied with Sasha, and the sand fight soon turned into a water fight. When the sun began to sink, scattering orange and pink across the water like pretty glass, all nine of them sat down in a line facing the ocean and watched. The dusk seeped into the air, and with it the cold mixed into the breeze.

“We should make a bonfire,” Reiner suggested. “Bertholdt brought stuff for s’mores.”

“Reiner,” Ymir hissed, “that’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me and your boyfriend is a gift.”

Bertholdt smiled sheepishly and ducked his head.

They gathered food from Reiner’s truck and put together a few pieces of driftwood they found along the beach. Eren pulled his arms around himself and shivered. Even the promise of fire, as Ymir doused the pile in lighter fluid, wasn’t enough to keep him warm in the wind.

“My clothes are wet,” he said to the others. “I’m heading back to the rental stand to change.” Connie tossed Eren the set of keys to the surfboard rental stand.

“I am right behind you,” Jean said, jogging over. “This damn shirt’s never going to get dry.”

They were too tired to race this time. Eren waited for Jean to catch up before he got moving again. He was surprised he’d lasted this long – in only his swim trunks, he should have been freezing hours ago. The wind wasn’t helping now. Eren felt like he was made of paper and the chill blew straight through him.

“I’m so tired,” Jean groaned. “Y’know, in a good way.”

“Same here,” Eren said.

“You were... Yeah. You were good out there today.”

“Oh, as opposed to other days?”

“You know what I mean, Eren.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I do, just messing with you. Right back at you, too.”

“What?” Jean blinked at him, digging his hands into his pockets. “Really?”

“Dude, you were on fire!” Eren exclaimed. “It was amazing!”

Jean dropped his gaze to the ground. A smile drifted its way onto his features. _On fire. Amazing._ Somehow he’d never thought he might hear those words from Eren of all people, never even expected it, but in Eren’s voice, directed at him, they felt like fresh air.

They made it to the rental stand, which Connie had closed earlier in the afternoon. It was getting darker and colder and the wind blew merciless. Jean looked back at the bright fire not far off. At least they were okay.

“Fuck, I can’t see a thing,” Eren muttered, blindly feeling around in the far corner for their things.

“Find it?” Jean called.

“What part of _‘I can’t see a thing’_ –”

“Jesus, all right, I’m coming.” Jean rolled his eyes and stepped into the storage room with him. The only light shone in from the open doorway and from the barely-there moonlight filtering through a small thin window high on the wall. If he focused, Jean could see the outline of a cluster of surfboards stacked precariously in one row and scattered messily in others, along with a portion of Eren’s back and shoulders as he stooped over the floor.

“You got a light?” Eren asked.

“My phone’s with my clothes, which are in here somewhere.”

“Shit, mine too. Hope someone didn’t steal our stuff.”

“The door was locked, Connie’s had the key until he gave it to you,” Jean sighed. “Our clothes are fine. Maybe they just got kicked around a—”

The wind rattled the shed and a deafening clatter cut him off as a few boards slid from the walls and hit the ground. Eren had been so startled by the sudden commotion that he tripped back and toppled over. The door slammed shut behind them and another board slowly began to tip. Jean cursed and dashed forward to catch it before it fell on Eren.

As the wind began to die down, Jean felt that he could move a little again. He assessed their surroundings as much as he could given the dim light, though his eyes were starting to adjust. Several surfboards were scattered about in a heap. Two boards had crossed to block the door. And the faint outline of Eren, small and quiet – but not totally still – relieved him.

“Good, you’re alive. I think,” Jean breathed with a bit of humor. He gently laid the surfboard he was holding on the floor and made for the door. The boards had wedged themselves between the walls in front of it, but Jean did his best to try and move them away.

A few moments passed; Jean managed to move one surfboard. But as he grabbed the knob, he found it wouldn’t budge. He pressed his thumb over the edge only to feel a smooth surface and no keyhole on this side.

“Shit. Hey Jaeger, can you help me out here?” he said, turning to him, having some trouble finding him again in the dark. When there was no response, he squinted to see the faint light illuminating the tips of Eren’s hair. “Are you hurt?”

Jean felt around a little until his hand touched the bare skin of what felt like a shoulder. The second that contact was made, Eren screamed and scrambled back.

“Whoa! Dude, it’s okay, it’s just me.” Jean blinked, trying to see in the dark, but all he could find was Eren’s crouched, shrinking form. What he could pick up from his remaining senses was the sound of rapid breathing. “Hey. Eren.”

Eren’s gasps, ragged and unfettered in the cool thick air of the shed, nearly had Jean settling into a panic himself. But his movements helped Jean see part of his body, and from there he could form the outline of the rest of him. Eren sat with his head buried, knees drawn in as tight as they could go, folded in on himself and shaking visibly.

“Eren,” Jean said, far softer this time. He touched him again and Eren jerked, letting out a strangled noise. “Okay, okay, no touching. I’m taking my hand away. Let me know when I can touch you.”

The only response he got was a harsh emphatic breath that sounded like as much of an affirmative as he might ever get.

Jean stayed standing as he glanced around the shed. He had two options – try on his own to get them out of here, which might cure Eren’s attack, or calm Eren down enough so he could help. Right now, both options seemed pretty hopeless, but as he glanced back at Eren, whose gasps now sounded wet, he knew which option was more important.

He stepped in front of Eren and got down on the ground with him. “Eren?” he said, keeping his voice low and even despite the creeping trepidation. “Eren, can you hear me? Are you listening? C’mon, you’re okay. Eren, you’re always okay.”

For Eren, Jean’s voice sounded like they were both underwater and Jean was miles away. There wasn’t much Eren could make out aside from his own name, but even then it didn’t sound like his. Something had its hands tight around his heart while the sharp pressure on his chest only kept him struggling for more air, and he was light and dizzy in the head and he’d begun to go into a sweat, perspiration keeping him hot and cold all at once and he couldn’t feel his own nails digging into his forearms and the air around him was stifling and closed in, thick walls in the paralyzing dark–

“Jaeger. Eren Jaeger,” Jean said. “C’mon, man, that’s you, huh? Answer me, Eren…”

Jean’s voice sounded closer now, and Eren nodded quickly, holding on to that voice like a low-hanging branch in a torrential river.

“There you are.” Jean sighed with a bit of relief, but this wasn’t over yet. “Eren, I need you to tell me what’s wrong. Can you do that?”

Eren immediately shook his head. His grip slipped and he sank back into hyperventilation. “I–” he said, air rushing in and out too fast for him to speak.

“Okay, don’t tell me, then. For right now, try to hold on, all right? Eren, breathe.”

Eren gave him an incredulous look.

“Fine, don’t do that, I mean do, do breathe. I know you’re trying. But slower, c’mon. Deep breaths, Eren.”

Eren took in a shaky gulp of air and then shook his head and sobbed, “I-I can’t, I can’t–”

“Yes you can, Eren. Do it with me.” Jean demonstrated something he never thought he’d have to – he breathed, taking in one long breath. “Breathe with me. You can do it, breathe in, hold it...”

Eren swallowed, throat impossibly tight, but took in a breath and tried not to let it out as soon as it had come in. It took him a few moments to catch some air and hold it, hold it for a few seconds, and then–

“Good, that’s good, now let it out nice and slow–”

The air punched out of him and he tried to get it back.

“Slow, Eren. You’re doing so good, try it again.”

What worked even more than the slower breathing was the encouragement Jean gave him and it made him want to keep a better pace. He took in a shaky breath, managed to hold it for a couple seconds, then let it out.

Jean sighed loudly. “Any better?” Even in the dim sliver of light, he saw Eren’s minute nod. “Great. Do you... want to talk about it?”

Eren’s breathing shivered a little. “I don’t... I don’t know...”

“What will help you?” Jean asked. “Is this a panic attack?”

“Y-yeah... I used to... I mean I, um...”

“What do you usually do when you get panic attacks?”

Eren shifted, moving his crossed arms to the tops of his knees. “I-I don’t know...”

“C’mon, Eren–”

“ _I don’t know_ , s-sometimes I watch _Whose Line_...”

Jean’s face went deadpan. “...You watch _Whose Line Is It Anyway._ ”

“Yeah, you asshole–”

“All right, sorry, no judgments. Just didn’t think you…” Jean stumbled. “You know what? Nevermind. But we can’t watch _Whose Line_ here. What else works?”

Eren mumbled, futilely scrambling for something, anything, and in his hurry was beginning to panic again.

“Okay, okay,” Jean shushed quietly. “So you don’t remember. Well...” He sat back a little. “What’s wrong?”

Eren shuddered, keeping tight around himself, but Jean could see him looking up now, scanning their surroundings, could tell where his eyes were moving by the shimmer of wetness that threatened to spill over again. Lines of earlier tears had already dried matte on the apples of his suntanned cheeks. “S’dark, don’t know anything, I can’t see,” he said. “Feels like it’s getting smaller...” 

“We’re gonna fix that, all right?” Jean hoped Eren might be able to see the smile he was trying to give. “We’ll get out of here, don’t worry. And if we can’t, I’m sure the others will come looking.”

“It’s getting _smaller_ –”

“It’s not,” Jean said.

“ _It is,_ ” Eren insisted, breathing fast again.

“Eren, listen to me, it’s not. This shed’s actually pretty big. Can I touch you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to try touching you, okay? On your shoulder, left shoulder. You tell me if you don’t like it, okay?”

Eren whimpered. “Okay.”

Jean reached forward, not actually sure where Eren’s shoulder was, but moving slowly until his fingertips brushed bare skin. Eren gasped a little, but didn’t tell him to stop. Jean pushed his fingers forward until his palm gently curved over the round of Eren’s shoulder. His body burned to the touch and he was still faintly trembling. 

Eren let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“See? You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

“It’s dark, I can’t see, Jean–”

“I’ve got you,” Jean said – firm, soft, and warm, just like his hands as he stroked the side of Eren’s shoulder with his thumb. “Understand?”

Eren swallowed and nodded, and that was when Jean carefully slid his fingers along Eren’s neck and up to his cheek, and Eren went still. His skin was already hot but Jean’s palm felt hotter, bright and burning and soft, even with callouses. He gave in to the moment of weakness and leaned his face into Jean’s hand. His own warm breath bounced off Jean’s wrist and back at him.

“Now, let’s figure out how to get out of here,” Jean said.

His hand left Eren’s cheek. It was easier than it should have been to accept the feeling of disappointment.

“What’s going on?” Eren managed to croak.

Jean stood and folded his arms. “The short version is, wind knocked over everything and I think it closed the door on us, too. Won’t open, it’s locked.”

“I have the key Connie gave me,” Eren said after a moment.

“No lock on the inside.” Jean ran a hand through his hair, and a few specks of sand and salt fell from the roots. “We could try breaking the door down.”

“I don’t think Connie would appreciate that.”

Jean snorted. “You’ve got his key and it might be the only one. Connie may just have to deal. It’s either that, or we wait here for a while until they notice we’ve been gone too long.”

“I’m cold,” Eren said.

“Yeah, me too.”

Jean looked for their clothes, hoping he could at least find his phone and use it as a flashlight. Several minutes went by before Eren finally began to unfold himself.

“I found a shirt,” Jean said. Eren felt it drop delicately into his lap. He rubbed the soft, thin fabric between his fingers.

“This is yours,” Eren said.

“You need it more than I do.”

Eren didn’t mind being selfish for Jean’s generosity. He slipped it on over his head. It was actually a little small on him, but long enough to cover what his swim trunks couldn’t. He murmured a tiny thanks. He was still shaking even though he was feeling better. The panic continued to creep over his shoulder like it would come back at the slightest hint of distress. He swallowed it down. _Everything will be okay_.

Eren could still hear Jean fishing around on the floor for their clothes. There was a short-lived sound of triumph before Jean realized all he’d found was an old net.

“Crap,” Jean said, “I don’t suppose you’re secretly MacGuyver.”

“Why would I keep that a secret.”

“I was joking, idiot.” Jean spoke somewhat carefully, but then Eren chuckled and Jean felt better. He couldn’t shake off the inherent need to keep treading on eggshells, didn’t know if he was doing any of this right or if he was fucking helping. He’d never had a panic attack and he’d never seen someone else have one aside from TV and movies, which showed someone breathing fast into a brown paper bag, and Jean didn’t even have one of those. He had his hands and a head on his shoulders level enough to know there was nothing in the dark that could hurt them.

Eren, judging by the way the rate of his breathing was spiking again, couldn’t quite afford the same luxury.

“Eren? You good?”

A pause.

“Yeah.”

“Commit to your lies more, Eren.”

There was a shaky sigh and then Eren inhaled sharply. “Did you hear that?”

“Just me, moving boards.” Jean had finally pulled the last surfboard away from the door. Still no luck with it. He twisted the knob, pulled it back and jammed his body forward against the door, rattling it on its hinges. He muttered curses to himself and to the door and shook it until he had to stop and catch his breath.

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you stop doing that...?”

Eren’s voice wavered between a whine and a whimper, soft and fragile like a cornered animal. Jean immediately pulled himself away from the door.

“Oh my god,” he said, “I’m so sorry, shit, are you okay?”

Jean quickly realized he was too late – Eren’s sharp, fruitless gasps filled the air once more. He had no idea what about trying to get them out had set him off, but he wondered how they were ever going to escape if he couldn’t have a go at the door. Jean moved over to where Eren sat.

“Eren, it’s just me, okay?” Jean tentatively placed his hand on Eren’s shoulder. From what he could see, Eren looked like he was going to vibrate out of his skin or faint or both. “When you curl up like that it’s gonna get harder to breathe,” Jean said. “How can I help? What do you want me to–”

An earth-shattering bang had Jean scrambling back and up to his feet, planting himself in front of Eren. A blinding beam of light poured in from the doorway, shadowing a tall, dark figure over a smaller one scanning with a cellphone flashlight. Jean squinted. He could hardly see a damn thing except for Bertholdt’s features slowly coming into view amidst the green and purple splotches in his vision. Eren gave a pitiful cry as another body wedged its way past Bertholdt and into the room.

“Eren!” Armin slid into the floor in front of him. “Eren, it’s me, it’s Armin. You’re okay.”

“There you two are,” Ymir sighed with relief. “Winds picked up bad, didn’t think you guys would be gone so long.”

Sasha offered profuse apologies to the both of them – Connie had one key, but she had forgotten hers – while Armin managed to calm Eren down. He seemed to have a system of his own: he raised his hands and helped Eren count his fingers slowly, which seemed to stabilize his breathing, a method that Jean mentally filed away for potential later use. Not like it would have done them any good here in the dark.

Now that they could find their clothes with flashlights, Jean and Eren changed out of their swim suits and walked back to the bonfire with the others while Connie stayed behind to fix the door. It didn’t feel right to ask Eren for his shirt back, so Jean stole Eren’s and wore it under his spare hoodie. He reassured Sasha that it was a simple circumstantial mistake and thanked Bertholdt for breaking the door down and saving them, to which Bertholdt sheepishly hung his head and insisted it was nothing and offered several times to pay for a new door.

Soon, Jean retreated to the stragglers of the group, finding Eren and Armin walking together. Armin, seemingly thankful for Jean’s added presence, let the two of them have some time alone.

As if they hadn’t had enough of that already.

“Hey,” Jean said.

“Hey,” Eren replied. There was less of a shiver to his voice, but it hadn’t gone completely. Jean couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, or if the attack was still lingering. He didn’t know what else to say at this point. It probably wouldn’t make much of a difference. Even the menial stuff they tended to talk or argue about seemed just that – menial, trivial, small in comparison.

Eren spoke before he could think of something.

“Thanks, Jean.”

“Huh?” he blurted.

“Thanks. For helping me out back there.”

“Yeah?” Jean coughed, flushing. “Yeah, I mean, of course. Why wouldn’t I help?”

“I mean for the way you helped.” Eren managed a breathy laugh. “I don’t get panic attacks a lot, but usually when they happen... people don’t know what to do. They jump the gun and start panicking themselves, they just keep saying ‘it’s okay’ and ‘breathe’ like I don’t already know that, almost always they try to give me a hug which is probably the worst thing to do.” He shrugged. “I don’t really know how I would’ve made it out on my own. So... thanks.”

“It’s all Bertholdt,” Jean snorted. “He’s shy, but he’s like a tank.”

Eren chuckled. “Take some credit, asshole.”

“Okay,” Jean said with a roll of his eyes. “Dumbass.”

“Jean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you... touch me again?”

Eren fidgeted as he said it. Jean supposed it was a comfort thing, but he was more than happy to oblige, and after some consideration of where exactly to touch, he brought his arm around Eren’s shoulders.

They walked like that for the rest of the way back. Christa, who had stayed behind with Reiner to watch their things, was relieved to see everyone was all right. She gave towels to the boys to get them warmed up again. Ymir grabbed a beer from the cooler, happy to resume the party where they had left off. Jean couldn’t help but feel that Eren was still somewhat out of it – depersonalized, uneasy, probably tired from the panic.

“Eren.”

“Hm?” Eren turned to him, holding a beer he hadn’t opened yet and probably wouldn’t open for a while, not until he realized it was actually in his hand.

“Come with me for a sec.”

Eren blinked. “Okay.”

Jean brought him to the empty space behind Reiner’s truck. Their things had already been packed away carefully, and judging from the satisfied way Eren regarded the organized pile, Armin was the one who had handled his drum set.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jean said. “I, uh, I _don’t_ do this.”

Eren took a seat on the open truck bed and waited patiently as Jean nervously paced in the sand. Finally, Jean pulled back both sleeves and held them up for Eren to see.

“Jean...”

Dark pink lines, choppy in sequence but even, extended a few inches up the insides of his forearms. It took a moment for Eren to realize what it meant. There was no red, not even the dried rust shade of scabs.

“This is why I wanted to swim in the ocean today,” Jean said. “To see if the salt stung. Either way, I wanted you there, even if you didn’t know what I was doing. But it didn’t sting, and I’m really... happy, about that.” He shrugged. "And maybe now you can stop treading on eggshells around me."

Eren swallowed, gaze flickering between Jean and his wrists, held out with a newfound sense of self-esteem. He wordlessly asked to touch and Jean gave his permission. Eren smoothed his fingers delicately over the lines, ever so slightly raised but pink, scarring, healing.

The moonlight washed over Eren’s features when he beamed.

“I’m really proud of you, Jean! I hope you’re proud of yourself, because you should be.”

A smile Jean didn’t even know he was wearing spread ever wider until his face began to hurt, and soon he had to hide it by turning his face to the ground. His chest tightened and his cheeks grew hot and he felt sick but he wanted to feel sick all the time, strangely, if it felt like this. He could bear this kind of sickness, sweet and satisfying and unknown.

They returned to the bonfire with towels around their shoulders. Armin had left an open space for the both of them to sit in the sand.

“Hey Kirk,” Ymir yelled from the other side of the fire, “your face is super red!”

“I think I got some sunburn, fuck off!”

Eren grinned cheekily. “I don’t burn–”

“You say ‘tan’ one more time–”

“I only tan.”

“I’m gonna tan you into next month, Jaeger.”

Reiner and Bertholdt decided to busy themselves with a sandcastle, building off the foundation of the one Jean and Eren had wrecked. Christa brought out the deck of cards and started a game with Ymir, Sasha, Connie, and Armin (who was revealed to have the best poker face of them all) while Jean and Eren, too tired to focus but too awake to sleep, watched as they placed bets with seashells and stones and a few crumpled dollar bills. The fire flickered tall and beautiful now that the wind had died down to a gentle breeze.

When Jean quietly pulled Eren’s hand from the sand and took it into his own, so softly that he barely noticed it at first, and laced a couple of their fingers together under the cool, dry towels, Eren felt it like a punch to the chest. But the good kind. The kind that had his heart slamming once against the inside of his ribcage, now beating and swelling and consuming him in a weird warmth that couldn’t be explained away by the heat of the flames. There they sat, huddled close under a pile of towels and thawing out before the brilliant flickering bonfire while beers dwindled and marshmallows blackened and burned on sticks and they were holding hands, kind of, and though Eren wasn’t sure what exactly this whole thing was, he knew he wanted more of it.

And so, he laced the rest of their fingers together.

Jean let out a soft breath and idly stroked his thumb back and forth along the heel of Eren’s hand.

“...Your hands are sweaty,” Eren muttered after a while.

Jean snorted. “Thanks, Jaeger.”

Neither of them let go until it was time to pile into the truck and head home. In the back seat, bodies pressed tight between Christa and Armin, their hands fell together in sync once more.

They were still.


	4. wherever there is you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _and you are folded on the bed where i rest my head  
>  there's nothing i can see, darkness becomes me  
> but i'm already there, i'm already there  
> wherever there is you, i will be there [too](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaCCYL7TXLY)_

From then on, holding hands gradually became a normal thing. Eren complied with Jean’s quiet insistence to keep it mostly a secret from everyone else, happy just to provide a mutual comfort they both needed. Every so often, they were caught; they'd then tear each other's hands apart with red faces and bitch at one another until all was forgotten. But when they could find some semblance of secrecy, they touched in passing, taking a few silent moments between one another, trying to memorize the sensation enough to keep them going until next time.

No more than a few days passed before Eren idly mentioned his sister Mikasa was coming to visit. Armin had told her about the incident at the beach in Connie’s surf shed, and she had booked the next available flight. If she could jet over at the drop of a hat now, Jean was surprised she had never visited before this.

“We don’t have a lot of money,” Eren explained when Jean asked about it. “So we agreed to see each other on two vacations a year and whenever there’s an emergency.” He chuckled under his breath. “I guess this qualifies as an emergency, if you can use any stretch of the imagination.”

Mikasa wasn’t anything like Jean had pictured her, though what exactly he had pictured, he didn’t even know himself. He should have guessed by her name that she and Eren weren’t related. Eren introduced her when he was back at Ymir’s, after picking her up from the airport. She was marginally shorter than Eren and they looked to be about the same age. There was a straight-backed maturity about her, a solid grace that became her sharp, angular, yet feminine features.

Jean couldn’t believe Eren had kept such a lovely woman hidden from them this whole time. This is what he whispered to Armin, which earned him an eyeroll and a light scolding.

Eren introduced Mikasa to everyone. Ymir offered her Hard Mike’s and they settled down for an easy practice session. Mikasa kept herself glued to Eren’s side – well, as close as she could get without interrupting. Jean was impressed by her ability to hold a composed expression amidst the flickers of concern, even when Eren insisted he was fine.

On their break, Jean sidled over to join Mikasa on the couch.

“So did it hurt when you–”

“Jean, you are _not,_ ” Eren yelled from his chair.

“What?” Jean laughed. “I’m kidding!” He wasn’t, really, but if she wasn’t receptive, no one needed to know that. “But I just want to say, Mikasa, I like your hair. It’s, ah, really pretty...”

“Please don’t hit on my sister,” Eren said. “Please don’t hit on my sister _while I’m in the same room._ ”

Mikasa held up her hand. “It’s okay, Eren. I can speak for myself.” Her eyes were pretty. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup, if any. “Thank you, Jean, but I’m not interested.”

Jean mumbled awkwardly, cheeks hot, “I was _kidding_.”

Armin laughed from the opposite wall.

Mikasa’s return flight was still to be determined – she wanted to stay at least until the end of Eren’s first week back in school. Eren didn’t protest it in the slightest. Though she was fairly quiet and seemed even motherly toward him at times, he enjoyed her company. Jean supposed it was a welcome respite from the consistent volume of his friends.

Eren had Mikasa staying in the apartment he shared with Armin. The three of them were virtually inseparable.

Jean returned to his own apartment each night with reminders of his own loneliness etched into the plain white ceiling of his bedroom.

Things got even worse when Eren started school, leaving him with less time to practice with the band. Jean skipped out a couple days, figuring that Eren wouldn’t show either. He laid in bed, in his boxers, freeing his body from the confines of the leftover August heat. He felt useless, restless, and limp all at once, desperate to get up and move, but so lethargic and driveless, yet too agitated to sleep. He stared at the lines on his wrists and rubbed at them until his skin felt hot.

_This is such a fucking joke._

He was playing Flappy Bird for the thousandth time when his phone buzzed in his hand.

**[8/27/14 01:26 PM] Jaegerbomb: are you coming to practice?**

**> surprised you’re there**

**[8/27/14 01:29 PM] Jaegerbomb: sorry, i’ve had classes. so are you coming to practice?**

**> don’t feel like it**

**[8/27/14 01:32 PM] Jaegerbomb: why not**

**> just don’t**

**[8/27/14 01:36 PM] Jaegerbomb: are you ok?**

**> idk**

Eren had already singlehandedly killed three of his Flappy Bird attempts with his fucking text messages. He should have been angry about that alone, but Jean was having a hard time feeling anything.

**[8/27/14 01:39 PM] Jaegerbomb: want me to come over?**

**> idk**

**[8/27/14 01:41 PM] Jaegerbomb: do you want Ymir to come over instead?**

**> idk**

**[8/27/14 01:42 PM] Jaegerbomb: tell me what you want**

**> idk**

**[8/27/14 01:46 PM] Jaegerbomb: if you send me one more idk i’m coming over**

Cornered. Cheap trick, but it worked.

**> i don’t feel like doing anything.**

**[8/27/14 01:55 PM] Jaegerbomb: stop playing Flappy Bird and tell me what you want**

**> how the fuck do you know i’m playing Flappy Bird**

**[8/27/14 01:57 PM] Jaegerbomb: you take too long to text me ‘idk’**

**[8/27/14 01:58 PM] Jaegerbomb: plus you always play Flappy Bird when you’re feeling down**

This was frustrating, but Jean almost liked the sensation. If he was feeling frustration, he was still _feeling._ He almost typed “idk” again automatically. But he wanted to feel more frustrated.

**> let me play Flappy Bird then**

**[8/27/14 02:02 PM] Jaegerbomb: can i come see you? at least for a bit. i want to see that you’re ok**

**> not sure**

**[8/27/14 02:03 PM] Jaegerbomb: give me a good reason not to**

**> i don’t need a reason**

**[8/27/14 02:05 PM] Jaegerbomb: fuck, i’m being pushy. i’m sorry.**

But now Jean was thinking of reasons why Eren shouldn’t come over. The only thing he could come up with was the fact that he felt more alone than he’d felt in weeks. And the last time it was like this, it had been bad. Still, “I’m lonely” wasn’t a good excuse to push someone away. He knew that.

Before he could respond, Eren sent another message.

**[8/27/14 02:09 PM] Jaegerbomb: what would you say if i told you i made spaghetti**

Right on cue, Jean’s stomach growled violently. He hadn’t eaten in _at least_ sixteen hours.

**> with meatballs?**

**[8/27/14 02:11 PM] Jaegerbomb: maybe :D**

**> you fucker**

**[8/27/14 02:13 PM] Jaegerbomb: i can leave a container outside your door if you don’t want to see me. or anyone. i understand if you don’t feel like being social**

**> no, it’s ok.**

A pause. Deep down, underneath all the numb, gloomy crap he couldn’t shake off lately, he did want to be social.

**> i want to see you.**

**[8/27/14 02:16 PM] Jaegerbomb: can i come over now?**

**> im going to poison you in your sleep. yes**

**[8/27/14 02:18 PM] Jaegerbomb: get ready for spaghetti ;)**

**> say that again and your invitation will be revoked**

**[8/27/14 02:23 PM] Jaegerbomb: can i bring the others? they asked. you can say no**

**> ...give me a few years to get dressed**

Jean took a quick shower, too, before texting Eren that he could come over. The crew arrived in a few minutes with their instruments and an enormous saran-topped bowl of spaghetti. Eren brought it into the kitchen while the others crowded the couch. Jean swiped his journal from the coffee table, shelved it, and joined Eren, who already had a fork ready to give Jean a pre-lunch sample.

“Ugh.” Jean chewed and moaned, “You suck.”

“I brought you food, be nicer.”

“You suck. Thank you, _Mom._ ”

“ _That’s_ your version of nicer?”

“Give me more... please?”

Eren held out another spaghetti-wrapped fork. “At least you said please.”

The others started busying themselves tuning their instruments and warming up their fingers. Jean didn’t feel right joining them, even if Armin and Mikasa were there to split the difference, so he stayed in the kitchen and defrosted the frozen bread rolls he didn’t remember buying. Eren poured the pasta into a pot to reheat it.

Jean leaned against the counter and watched him cook, but he mulled deep in the bottom dredge of his own thoughts, not sure if human interaction was good for him today. Everyone in the living room seemed to be having their own thing. Jean felt as though he were dead and the world merely was merely turning as it always had. He didn’t know them. He didn’t know himself. For a moment he retreated into the recesses of his being and watched his body standing listless in the kitchen among everyone else. 

Every once in a while, these low points put everything in black and white and more black. Not like he wanted to kill himself – he was too much of a fucking coward, though he did think about it – but more that if someone came and did it for him, he wouldn’t have any complaints. That if someone held a gun to his head, or stood behind him at the cliff’s edge and pushed him off, he’d close his eyes and let come what may. He didn’t even wish to die; at times like these, when it got bad, quietly, under the surface, he just wanted to stop existing. The present felt foreign, the past was still godawful, and the future–

Eren’s hand slipped into his own. Jean snapped back into his body with terrifying force. He looked to Eren for an explanation, but Eren’s eyes were focused on the pot as he stirred.

“Hey,” Jean said.

“Hm?”

Eren’s brows rose slightly. After a few moments of silence, his gaze drifted to Jean, who was a little startled by the mute sincerity of his gaze. Jean’s grasp of language died in his throat for a brief moment, replaced by the comfortable warmth of Eren’s hand against his own, which mirrored the warmth spreading in his chest.

“... Nothing. You’re dumb.”

_Nice save, Jean._

Eren snorted and stuck out his tongue but for once didn’t counter with an equally immature insult.

Nothing, he’d said, and yet it was everything. Jean had been rising high and untethered and Eren had tugged him back down. Jean had been sinking into a hole he’d dug himself and Eren had pulled him up out of the ground. The touch alone made him feel as if Eren could read him more than he could read himself. The thought was both terrifying and comforting, and somehow he preferred it that way.

Jean wasn’t ready to let go when Eren pulled away from him to serve lunch.

As soon as they’d been fed, the group started practice. Jean tried his best to keep up, stay focused, put his all — or as much as he could — into their time. Every so often, he found himself glancing at Mikasa, whose attention was only mildly held by the book in her lap. She’d look up frequently at Eren, then go back to her book when Eren returned her gaze and occasionally gave her a small smile to settle her nerves. It troubled Jean, and he wasn’t sure why, but he sure as hell wouldn’t say anything about it. He didn’t feel that it was his place.

They were able to have a couple hours of practice before Jean apologetically asked to stop for the day. Eren must have told them that he wasn’t having the best of days socially, because they packed up their instruments and began to file out. Eren, who only had his drumsticks and a roll-up portable drum set to worry about, stuck both in his back pockets and headed for the kitchen to wrap things up.

Jean moved from the floor to the couch. His knee bounced up and down, a tic he couldn’t shake off nor was he conscious of. But from here he could watch Eren without hovering, watch over the short counter as Eren piled the rest of the spaghetti into a tupperware container and put it in Jean’s fridge.

“Why do you do that?” Jean asked suddenly.

“Huh?”

By now only Mikasa and Armin were left in the apartment; Reiner and Ymir had gone home. Jean had never been nervous around Armin, but coupled with Mikasa’s presence, Jean felt that he had to carefully choose his words.

“You make a ton of food and then you give it all to me.”

“Do you not want me to?” Eren asked with a tiny frown and a crease in his brow.

“Yes. I mean, no. It’s fine.” He sighed heavily, leaning back against the couch cushions. “I just don’t know why you do it.”

Eren stared at him for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “Just being nice. Feels selfish not to.”

Jean tried not to let the others’ presence phase him, but the hairs at the nape of his neck stood on end as he felt one or both of them staring. “You’ve never done that when you cook for Ymir.”

Eren pressed his lips together in thought. “Yeah,” was all he said after a while, closing the fridge finally. He took another few moments to clean the bowl in the sink. The pause, filled only with a loud rush of water and the occasional clatter of ceramic, only further unsettled Jean.

“Why?” Jean asked. “Are you taking pity on me or something? At least be a little less obvious. If you’re looking for some sort of reward–”

“What? I never–”

“I don’t need your pity pasta,” Jean grumbled.

“It’s not pity,” Eren said with a small chuckle. “I... I worry sometimes that you don’t eat. That you forget, or you just don’t feel like it. I’ve just been hoping, if you have stuff ready to eat, you’ll eat.”

“I don’t want you to do that,” Jean said after a pause.

Eren wiped down the bowl with a towel and put it under his arm as he emerged from the kitchen. “Then what? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t want to tell you what to do.”

“Well, whatever I do seems to always bother you.” Eren sighed to calm himself before he got worked up.

Jean swallowed. He never really thought about it much. He seemed to always want but it was useless to want. Like this, the way he was, nothing worked so why want anything? He hardly understood what he wanted, or why he wanted, or why he wanted it from _Eren_.

“What is it that _you_ want?” Eren said after a time.

“I don’t know, dammit! Maybe I want you to cook here!”

Eren blinked. He shifted the bowl in his arms, swinging it down loosely into his hands. Jean was quietly impressed – it looked heavy, but lighter now somehow as Eren’s expression softened.

“You want me to cook _here_? Like, with you?”

Jean shrugged. “Yeah.” He kept his eyes down until Eren didn’t respond. When he glanced up, Eren was smiling.

“That’s all?”

Jean blinked twice. “Uh. I guess.”

Eren nodded, turning the bowl over in his hands a few times before he tucked it under his arm again. “Okay. I’ll do that next time. And feel free to ask for something other than spaghetti and meatballs.”

“Why would I do that?” Jean asked, allowing himself to smile.

Eren followed Armin and Mikasa to the door and Jean saw them out. Eren was the last of the trio to leave. Jean felt a little empty about it, but he had no idea what to do to fix that feeling. Before he knew what he was doing, he reached out to touch Eren’s hand.

Eren paused for a few seconds, looked back at him, smiled, and squeezed Jean’s hand before he ducked out.

Jean pressed the door closed and pushed himself up against it until his forehead warmed a spot on the painted wood.

After a show at The Rose mere days before school was to start again, the Jaegerbombs stayed to have drinks with the night crowd. Ymir busied herself having a drinking contest with Reiner and making faces at Christa when she passed by in her work uniform. Bertholdt stood by nervously, muttering that Reiner was too heavy to carry if he passed out. “Bert, I’m German,” was all Reiner could say to that, over and over and over. Bertholdt looked like he might sweat through his shirt in response. Annie, a friend of Reiner’s he’d invited to the show, merely raised her eyebrows and checked her phone from time to time.

A pair of hands fell over Jean’s eyes. He stiffened.

“Guess who?”

“Spider-Man?” Jean asked hopefully.

“Close enough,” the voice said, lifting their hands away. Jean turned to find a beaming Connie and Sasha behind him, two Sangrias in hand.

“Hey!” Jean grinned and pulled them both into a hug, Sasha awkwardly raising her drinks to keep them from spilling. “How are you?”

“Good, good!” Sasha said over the background music and crowd noise. “We start classes soon, so it was great to see you guys again before summer’s over!”

“Great to see you, too!” The show had tired him out, but seeing Sasha and Connie again lifted his spirits a little. “Drink with us?”

“Only if it’s a contest,” Eren answered from the next seat over.

Connie laughed. “Are you _really_ challenging us to a drinking contest? Sasha’s going to _smoke_ you.”

Ymir slammed her glass down on the table. “It is _on!_ ” She raised her hand to Christa. “Babe? A round of your strongest, please.”

One by one, shots were knocked back after a countdown. First to bow out was Armin, who Eren knew didn’t even like alcohol. More dropped like flies – Connie, even Mikasa, whose cheeks began to burn, and Eren and Jean, who stopped dead even while holding their own personal contest, glaring at each other as they drank. There were only a few left by the end, but after a while they had to stop before someone passed out. Out of all of them, Bertholdt was so unfazed he looked as though he hadn’t had a single drink tonight. He finished off the leftover shots, sipping them down like water, hearing someone adjacent to him muse that he probably sweated it all out before it could get into his system. Annie was in the same position: hardly affected in the slightest, spinning her last shot glass under her fingers, while, across the table, Mikasa stared in something akin to admiration.

Jean sat quietly and let the light fiery buzz pool in his throat and his cheeks. He only vaguely sensed Armin slide over to the seat next to him.

“Hey, you drank a lot,” Armin said. “How do you feel?”

“I feel like a dragon.”

“Cool. Feel anything else? Sick, maybe?”

“Not yet.”

“Good. Drink this.” Armin slid a glass of water his way. Jean stared at the swaying, clinking ice cubes in it for a few moments, as if Armin was betraying him, attempting to smother the fire within his dragon form. Then he took a few sips and frowned, kissing his teeth and feeling significantly less dragon.

“Armin,” Jean said, stretching his voice out.

“Hm?”

“You think... What’d’you... Armin.”

Armin gave him a warm smile. “Sound it out.”

“What’s... What’s Jaeger’s deal?” Jean cocked his jaw and slumped forward over the table. “He’s all... this and that. And I’m all weird. And he’s being such a dumbass, I don’t know what he’s trying to do. Y’know?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Me too.”

Armin encouraged Jean to finish off the glass of water.

“I think Eren’s trying to feel things out,” he said. “With you, I mean.”

“Feel things out?” Jean slurred. “What things?”

“Well, the two of you haven’t known each other for very long. A few months, right?”

“Yeah, like... like four months. Five. Six. A lot.”

Armin laughed. “Has it been that long?”

“Yeah, I think! I knew Jaeger in... Spring,” Jean said. “Hell, I knew him before that, but he hated me. Probably ‘cause I was a big douche. No, he was the douche. But I’m always a douche, so I was a douche, too. It’s in my programming.” He put his temple to the table. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Another glass of water was pushed towards him.

“You’re the best, Ar. Can I call you Ar?”

“No."

“Like a pirate.” Jean laughed to himself. “Arrr. A pretty pirate. Ar, you’re kinda girly.”

“Okay,” Armin said, and rubbed Jean’s back. “Drink your water.”

Jean drank in an ice cube and munched on it. “Jaeger’s doing something to me. It’s funny. He’s funny. He doesn't make sense.”

“How so?”

“He hates me, Ar. Used to. Almost didn’t join the band ‘cause I was in it. And now he’s all...” Jean made an illegible gesture. “And he wants to hang out with me and stuff. Cook with me. He’s coming over tomorrow night to make me food. And that’s weird. And he’s helping me out. When I get bad, he makes it better. He doesn’t even have to do anything. Well, he does stuff. Cheers me up. Makes me feel tangible when it seems like I’m alone and fading.”

“That last bit was surprisingly articulate of you,” Armin replied.

“It’s easy,” Jean hiccuped, “but it’s not. It’s fuckin’ complicated. Eren makes it less and more. Sometimes I have to be on my own, y’know? To think about shit. But other days being on my own is the worst."

“I get it,” Armin said. “I get that it’s hard sometimes. To be out, to be with people. It’s taxing. I’m that way, too.”

“That’s not it,” Jean said. “Well, that’s not _all_ of it. It’s some of it.”

“What’s the rest?”

Jean sighed and pushed a hand through his hair. “That’s the problem, I don’t know. There’s this weird empty space and I keep thinking that other people are going to fill it. Y’know? Like someone really good’s gonna come along and fix me. But I’m starting to think that won’t work. That that’s not... what I should be doing.”

Armin’s stare was ever constant, reassuring in a way. “What changed?” he finally asked.

Jean shrugged, chewed on another ice cube, made a grumbling noise. “I don’t know. It's nice, for once, to not be treated like a problem. To know I'm not just a major fuckup. An' he stuck around, probably longer than I’d stick around someone as annoying and douchey as me.” Jean laughed a little. “Mikasa probably wouldn’t.”

Armin hummed knowingly. “Do you like Mikasa?”

“Yeah. No. I don’t know,” Jean said. “It’s like… I like her like how I’m supposed to like her. Sometimes there are people you just automatically find attractive, right? As if you’re, uh, predisposed to it. I mean, I guess I do – like her – but it’s not… It’s not the same.”

“The same as what?”

Jean shook his head, clearing it out. “Nevermind, I’m drunk. I’m a dragon. This is weird.”

“What’s weird?” Eren poked his head in over Armin’s shoulder. His arms wound about Armin’s waist and he leaned on him as though he couldn’t stand too well on his own.

“You, Eren.” Armin offered the third glass of water to him. “Did you drink even more? Don’t blame me when you’re dead in the morning.”

Jean suddenly sat up straight like a rocket, eyes a little wide as he froze. “Ar, something’s in my pocket. It’s moving.”

Armin snorted. “Your phone?”

Jean felt the hip of his jeans and sank with relief. He pulled it out of his pocket, checked the number, frowned. He only recognized the area code, vaguely. “Too loud here, going outside.”

“Careful,” Armin reminded him as he went. Jean nodded, held his head a little, took the call before he missed it, and ambled out of the bar.

Eren leaned more heavily on Armin’s body. “Wanna go home, Armin.”

“Drink your water first.”

Armin got Eren to stop leaning and sit down in an actual seat. He always found himself in these positions – the only level-headed one among several drunks. He and Mikasa usually took turns as the designated driver, and now it looked like that was the case again. Of course, he’d already planned it this way – _someone_ had to stay sober enough to drive. He scanned their group of friends and band members – Reiner laughing loud and deep and Bertholdt frowning with worry as Sasha and Connie seemed to be having another contest of sorts, this time with the leftover breadsticks, Annie and Mikasa talking softly to one another, close together, and Ymir trying to snag a kiss every time Christa, still working, passed by.

When Jean returned a few minutes later, he appeared significantly more sober, his previously lax expression now tight with unease.

“Jean?” Armin asked. Eren perked up, having dozed a little. Across the table, Ymir turned her head to them.

Jean blinked and stared at the phone in his hand. “My mom’s in the hospital.”

“Shit,” Ymir breathed. “Is it serious?”

He shrugged, then shook his head. “Uhh. Appendicitis. They didn’t sound really worried. But I’m going to try and visit her. Can... can someone come with me?”

After a pause, Eren said, “I’ll go with you.”

“Eren,” Armin chided, “you just started school. You can’t skip.”

“You guys don’t have to, I just...” Jean trailed off. The way he stood now made his body appear heavy and limp and small. Eren didn’t like it at all, and knew that _someone_ should go with him to the hospital. But Armin, damn him, was right.

“I’ll go,” Ymir said. Not asking, stating. She’d graduated already and her job didn’t start for another few weeks.

Jean was too compliant, or perhaps too drunk, to argue with her. He nodded.

Later, they left the bar in two cars, Armin driving one and Mikasa driving the other. In the split of groups, Eren didn’t manage to get into the same car as Jean. His hands were cold as he sat in the back and fell asleep with his head pressed hard against the window.


	5. that darkness at my back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _sometimes the feeling coming back  
>  i feel that darkness at my back  
> that's why i'm always being engine  
> and you can fool it til the season's [changing](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsi0wScnZlk)_

_Nope._

“Oh no, you don’t,” Ymir growled, swinging Jean back in by his elbow and locking her grip on him tight. “You’re going to see her at least once. And you’re going to talk to her and spend time with her for at least a few minutes, and if she likes me enough, I may spend at least a few more minutes talking to her instead of waiting outside over the magazines. I didn’t spend two agonizing hours in the car with The Used on full blast so you could straight-up bail.”

“You’re worse than Eren,” Jean groaned, resisting her weakly.

“You _know_ Eren would be dragging you in with his fist in your shirt.” Ymir rolled her eyes as if she didn’t know how else she’d survive. “C’mon, let’s go find your mom.”

Ymir asked around the lobby until she got Mrs. Kirschtein’s room number – 104, in the hall two wings over. As she tugged a reluctant Jean behind her, Jean was convinced he’d pass out. His throat kept closing up no matter how many times he swallowed, and those bright white walls on either side burned into his vision when he shut his eyes. They passed room after room of patients hidden by curtains. 

Oncology ward. He made brief eye contact with a teenager sitting up in bed. Bald, eyes sunken into shadows, lips pale and cracking. When they walked by four patients lined up against the wall, leaning back and hooked up to machines and IVs for their treatment, Jean couldn’t discern their ages; they all appeared equally exhausted. He couldn’t see Ymir’s face as she tugged him farther.

There was a brief respite from the pale atmosphere of oncology. To get to his mother’s room, they had to pass through the pharmacy. The hall was deathly quiet save for the occasional crackling loudspeaker requesting doctors and the crinkle of a white paper prescription bag.

On into the next hall, Jean made the mistake of looking over into what he quickly realized was the emergency clinic, made visible by a strip of clear glass running down the door. But he could still see everything – doctors rushing by with clipboards and injured

         bloodied patients yelling in pain as they waited their turn

                       nurses wheeling in a gurney carrying a woman stained red and unmoving under an oxygen mask

               then Jean couldn’t feel his legs anymore and the rest of him shivered with chills and sweat

                                             his ears rang high pitched, Ymir was saying something and pulling him further until he could walk better, and now

     he could no longer see the emergency clinic in this new hall but all the same the image was there when he blinked. He wasn’t sure whether he was dizzy, sick, or both

                    but he could imagine lying there on one of those gurneys, watching strip after strip of florescent lights dart by overhead, and his stomach churned at the thought.

When they made it to his mother’s room, Jean couldn’t remember how they’d gotten there, what else they had passed along the way. He felt Ymir’s hand in the center of his back, gentle but firm.

“We’re here...” she said, moving to clasp his shoulder too tight. “Need a minute?”

Jean swallowed and counted to thirty as he closed his eyes until those detailed images blurred and faded to black.

His only comfort was the slow, steady blip of the heart monitor there in 104.

Eren didn’t hear from Jean for two days. He went to class, checked his phone, did his homework, kept his phone nearby, went to sleep and, much to Armin’s mild but understanding displeasure, left the ringer on beside his bed.

Jean called in the middle of TLC’s evening _Extreme Couponing_ marathon. Eren didn’t recognize his own ringtone until the fourth play, when he scrambled for his phone and took a deep breath so he didn’t sound so anxious. He muted the TV and picked up.

“Jean, hey.”

A pause, then some rustling on the other end. “Hey, Eren.”

Eren shrugged, even though Jean couldn’t see him. “How’s it going?”

“My mom’s fine.”

 _I was asking about you._ “That’s good. She must be in pain, huh?” But Eren could almost hear Jean’s eyes rolling in response.

“Yeah, a pain in my ass.” Now that Jean was speaking more, Eren realized he must be drunk, stoned, or both. Damn Ymir for letting him slip. “Soon as I show up, she’s nagging that I haven’t visited. Started complaining that I don’t call enough, don’t tell her what I’m up to.”

Eren swallowed. “Maybe you should call her a little more,” he gently suggested. “When was the last–”

“Don’t be on her side, Jaeger.”

“I’m not taking sides, Jean. Just because you’re legally an adult doesn’t mean you have to be independent from everything. Family’s important.”

There was a sigh, followed by a muffled voice – Ymir’s, Eren realized – and then the click of a closing door. More background noise could be heard – crickets and the whoosh of an occasional passing car, he guessed.

“Where are you now?”

“My mom’s house,” Jean answered. “She let me and Ymir stay while we’re visiting so we wouldn’t have to sleep in the car. I’m on the roof, outside my old bedroom.”

Eren spread out to take up the rest of the space on the couch. “Seriously? I’ve always wanted that, like in the movies. A bedroom where I could step right out onto the roof. Hang out, look up at the stars.”

“Don’t get all purple on me,” Jean snorted into the phone. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, anyway. When I was a kid I fell off and broke my ankle twice. Same ankle, too.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not an idiot, so I think I’d be fine.”

“You’re such a liar, Jaeger, you’d jump right off if I dared you!” Jean scoffed. Eren laughed aloud. “See? You’re laughing because you know I’m right. Suicidal bastard.”

“I can _picture_ it.”

“Me too.” Jean cleared his throat. The phone was so close that Eren could hear the wet bob of his throat. “Sorry I missed cooking night.”

“Your spaghetti angel forgives you. We’ll have it when you get back.”

“Don’t make it without me,” Jean said. “I want to learn all your secrets.”

Eren grinned. “Never.”

“Yeah, even if I did, I’m a shitty cook.” There was a pause that Eren let hang, and then Jean spoke up again. “I once made my mom breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day, y’know? Eggs, toast, bacon, the works. Even tried making the orange juice. Got a little too ambitious, I think. Well, long story short, the salt’s right next to the sugar–”

“Oh no.”

“Yeah, oh no. But my mom fucking ate the eggs anyway! Sweet eggs, must’ve been gross as hell. And I made a mess with the juice, so I literally just put a hacked up orange on her plate. _And_ I burnt the toast, too. I fucked up the easiest part of breakfast.” There was another silence. Eren hoped it was filled with Jean remembering his mother – fondly, like she deserved to be. If Jean would only carry it with him into the hospital. “Anyway,” he said, “that’s my embarrassing story. Your turn.”

“What? I never agreed to sharing.”

“C’mon, Jaeger,” Jean drawled. “Tell me the stories of your youth.”

“Fine.” Eren thought for a while. He dragged out the silence so he could listen to the soft sound of Jean’s breathing echoing into the speaker.

“Time’s up.”

“I was at a birthday party,” Eren said. “I was... eleven, twelve. There were a few other boys my age. Mikasa and Armin were there, too. We decided to play baseball.”

Jean snorted. “A bunch of stupid preteen boys playing janky baseball, what could go wrong? Continue.”

“With a basketball.”

“... You played baseball with a fucking basketball?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy shit,” Jean said, “I am in sheer awe of your complete idiocy. That must’ve gone well.”

Eren’s cheeks hurt from smiling. “I was up to bat and I missed. The basketball hit me right in the face.”

Jean was still cracking up. “Serves you right!”

“The parents all freaked out. One of them went to the freezer but couldn’t find an ice pack, so for the rest of the party I had a bag of frozen blueberries on my nose. My mouth was bleeding, too, my teeth were all red. But the kid who did it felt so bad he let me punch him in the face to make it even.”

Between deep shuddering cackles, Jean managed to breathe, “This is hands down the best story I’ve ever heard.”

Eren laughed along with him, laughed until their sides hurt, until they cried. After a while, he could still hear Jean chuckling on the other end. Eren stared at his boring ceiling and wondered what stars Jean was looking at, if he could see the same constellations from where he was.

“How are you, Jean?”

Jean hummed, then drank something. “Not the best. Don’t really want to be home. _Here_ home, I mean. Feels... weird.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “Bad memories.”

Eren reminded himself not to pry. He was getting better at that.

“Wish you were here,” Jean continued. “Ymir’s really bad at comforting people.”

Eren scoffed. “What makes you think I’m any better?”

“You are.” Jean said it sincerely – the casual, hard tenor in his voice was briefly gone. “I mean, Ymir’s not bad, but she pats me on the back too hard. And I don’t think she made the best impression on my mom.”

“Still not sure I’m the better option.” Eren chuckled. “But is she helping?”

“Some,” Jean answered reluctantly. “I just hate hospitals. And hospitals suck more when you’re there alone.”

“Yeah.”

Eren couldn’t imagine how much worse it would’ve been to be alone.

He’d had Mikasa and Armin. Two shoulders to lean on.

“I wish I was there, too,” Eren said finally, "with you."

Jean made a strangled noise on the other end. “I’ve changed my mind, screw it. I want spaghetti and meatballs ready for me when I get back.”

“Sure, Jean.”

“...Thanks, Eren,” Jean murmured.

Silence followed. Evidently he hadn’t hung up, because Eren heard a car or two go past in the background. Eren glanced at the TV screen – a woman and her husband were pulling a tail of five shopping carts across the parking lot to their car, success written on their faces and on the impressive receipt clutched in her hand.

Restless, Eren pulled out the guitar beside the couch and started to tune it. Jean told him to play him something. Eren strummed the chords to the song they’d written together, soft lingering notes that Jean coupled with mumblings of his lyrics on the other end of the line.

Several minutes went by.

“Hey, Jean? ... Are we still?” he whispered.

When only the crickets replied, Eren smiled and hung up the phone.

Jean showed up at Eren’s apartment only hours after he’d returned from visiting his mother. The door opened and Jean threw his arms around the body standing there – a surprised and flustered Armin, who finally peeped “hi Jean” until he noticed.

“Oh, sorry! I–” Jean shot back with a red face. He rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. “Oh god, that was sufficiently embarrassing.”

Armin laughed. “That’s okay! I like hugs. Eren’s out on a run, he’ll be back soon, if you want to wait.”

Jean muttered his denial that he was looking for Eren, much less that he wanted to hug Eren until one or both of them passed out, but stepped inside anyway. Eren and Armin’s apartment was always warmer than his own. Jean spotted a slew of papers littering the coffee table, two open textbooks on the couch, and eventually the suit Armin was wearing.

“Why do you look all spiffy?” Jean asked. “Are you going to a wedding or a funeral?”

“Close enough. Intern dinner.” Armin gave him a self-deprecating laugh. “They wanted formal attire. I had to go out and get fitted.”

Jean sat on the arm of the couch. “Man, you really want this job, huh?”

“I do.” Armin smiled. “It would be a great opportunity to get my foot in the door.” He watched Jean chew on the inside of his cheek. “What do you want to do, Jean?”

He shrugged. “Man, I don’t know. Things are kinda... hard right now. I don’t know what I want to do. The band won’t last forever.”

“Nothing does,” Armin said.

“Pfft. That’s a real comfort.”

“It should be!” He leaned against the wall next to Jean. “Nothing lasts forever. So everything you do, you’ve got to make it count.”

Jean leaned back and forward on the couch. “I’m not important enough to think that way.”

“If you think too much about how you fit into the grand scheme, you’re always going to feel small.” Armin’s eyes seemed incredibly blue as he smiled and stared at Jean. “But you’re important. You’re always important to someone, even when you feel like you’re alone and falling. Sometimes it’s the little things that make the biggest difference.”

Jean wrung his hands together in thought. He kissed his teeth and finally met Armin’s gaze again.

“You should be a therapist.”

“Too late,” Armin laughed. “I have to go. But you get people. Maybe _you_ should be the therapist.”

“Are you kidding? I’d make a terrible therapist.” He waved goodbye as Armin slipped out of the apartment. Jean was gradually learning that Armin had a certain kind of rare wisdom that he should probably visit more often.

For the next twenty minutes, Jean made himself comfortable on Eren’s couch and thought. He had no idea where he wanted to go in life, what he wanted to do, and how he’d get it done once he figured it out. He’d already dropped out of college and wasted nearly three years, and the only things really keeping him going were the band and...

Jean felt his heart race.

 _I have to take care of myself_.

Whatever that meant.

A key grated into the lock and the apartment door opened. Eren, in sweatpants and a tank top, shone with his tan skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. He pulled his headphones out of his ears, confusion flickering across his brow.

“Did Armin let you in?” Eren said, breath a little heavy. “I thought he would’ve left by now.” 

Before he could blink, Jean crossed the floor and folded his arms around Eren’s middle, ducking his head into the crook of his warm, sweaty neck. Jean ignored the salty grit of his skin, melting with relief.

Eren was trying to avoid touching Jean even though he had him trapped. “Dude, wait, I’m gross!” He was still warm and Jean’s embrace wasn’t helping him cool down in the slightest and now there was fire under his cheeks. After a few moments of silence, Eren sighed and squeezed back.

“That feels good,” Jean almost moaned in response. “Ymir’s hugs are bony.”

“This hug’s pretty bony anyway, but that’s your fault.” Eren smiled against Jean’s shoulder. “Want me to make you something?”

Jean shook his head. For once he actually wasn’t hungry – Ymir had taken them on a fast food stop and bought him things he couldn’t _not_ eat. Even if he could now feel the heavy warm sweat creeping through his shirt, all he wanted was to stay like this as long as possible. He hadn’t realized how much he’d needed Eren’s touch until he’d had to go without it for days.

“Hey, Jean?”

“Mmn?”

“Can I take a shower? I’ll be fast. And then we can get back to... this.”

Jean paused, then nodded, letting Eren go. He’d locked his legs and they were starting to hurt. But after only a minute apart from him, he already missed it. _What's wrong with me?_

This was ridiculous. He felt good. And strange. And weird, but not the bad kind of weird, but it felt bad because he didn’t know what it was. But it was good.

_But it's not like I'm_ into _Eren or anything._

He stole a beer from the fridge and busied himself playing Flappy Bird on his phone until Eren got out of the shower. Eren's hair was still dripping and the towel that hung from his shoulders hardly covered his bare chest, and Jean quickly went to down the last of his beer as he started to wonder where it all went wrong.

“Was that mine?” Eren asked.

“Sorry,” Jean said. He stood and approached him, taking both of Eren’s hands into his own. They felt warm and a little wet from the shower, still, and his stubby nails contrasted sharply with Jean’s long, well-kept ones. Eren stared down at their hands together, spotted a hint of a scar across Jean’s wrist, but said nothing about it. All that mattered was that he was getting better.

“You owe me a beer,” he said.

“You would’ve offered me one anyway, fuck you.”

“Yeah,” Eren laughed, “I would’ve.” He paused now that Jean was close, now that the smell of his own sweat wasn’t overriding every other scent. “... Have you been smoking?”

“Yeah...” Jean said hesitantly. “I did a little bit... A lot a bit.”

“You’re smoking again,” Eren sighed. “ _And_ drinking.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Eren shrugged, looked for the right words. He remembered those days when Jean looked, talked, and walked like a zombie. “It’s hard enough to talk to you when you're high, let alone drunk, too.”

Jean’s brows knit together. “I had one beer... Two beers, technically. I’m not drunk.”

“But you are high, _really_ high, I should’ve guessed. Your eyes are red.”

“Whatever, it’s not your business.”

“You’re right that it’s not my business,” Eren groaned, “but fuck, as your friend I have a right to be concerned about you, don’t I? These behaviors aren’t good for you.” He stared Jean down and wished he was taller. “Remember last time you smoked yourself out? Back in June? You reeked of it. You said smoking made you mellow, but take too much of it and you’re numb. How much has feeling numb ever worked for you?”

“Stop.” Jean pulled his hands out of Eren’s and wrung them together. “Jaeger, fuck off. Drinking, and smoking, and playing fucking games on my phone? They help. I cope. I’ve already accepted that that’s all I can do for myself is cope.”

“Do those things _really_ help?"

“Yeah, they do!” Jean snapped. “I mean… A little! Sometimes not enough, but more than anything else!”

Eren clenched his fists through the space where his hands had been. “Listen to me, Jean! It _is_ your business what you do to cope. But I want to see you beat this because you're so fucking close and I'm not going to let you give up, because I promised myself I wouldn't give up on you. You can keep taking that stuff to feel numb, drinking until you drown, hurting yourself until you feel it, but it’s a distraction, and a fucking dangerous one. If you’re going to distract yourself, choose something that doesn’t put you at risk. Sooner or later you’re going to have to face it. That’s the only way you’ll overcome it.”

Jean’s glare finally met his. “I’m never going to overcome it. I’m going to deal with this shit all my life. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“I do, because I’ve been there!”

“You don’t know anything about me, about the shit I’ve been through!” Jean spat back. “You have no fucking idea what it’s like to lose someone!”

“I watched my mom die when I was twelve, you fuckhead,” Eren snarled, and Jean shrank back. His expression flickered into horror, eyes wide and wet. Eren took a deep breath. “So don’t fucking tell me I don’t know what it’s like.”

Jean swallowed loudly, eyes darting about for purchase. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Eren said tightly.

“No, it’s not.” Jean ran his hands through his hair, pushing the beanie off. He gaped at him in shock. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Eren shook it off. It had been a long time since he’d told anyone. And it still hurt, remembering every detail of what he’d seen. But he understood that while he hadn’t been able to afford therapy, he’d had Mikasa and Armin for support.

From what it sounded like, Jean had had no one.

“I’m sorry, too,” Eren sighed finally. “Look, you're worth a fucking lot, all right? You're more than your faults, your flaws, all that shit. You are strength, Jean, you’re music and life and a bunch of amazing golden stuff and just you've got a lot of crap around you right now. But that life you have? It’s one of the best damn things that ever happened, to me, to all of us. And I know it’s hard, and it takes time. But you’re getting there!"

Jean shook his head, "N-no, I'm not–"

"Yes, you are!" Eren insisted. "It's always hard to see when the water's all muddy. It won’t always be easy, it never has been. There’s no cure for this, and years down the road you'll probably still have your bad days. And I’m not gonna say some bullshit like ‘the bad days make the good days better’ because the good days are never enough and the bad’s gonna be fucking terrible any way you slice it. But someday, those bad days aren’t going to seem as bad as before, they’ll be easier to deal with and you’ll endure. I don’t like to lie, Jean, and I’m telling you right now that I care a whole lot about you, even if you _are_ a pretentious asshole. And I never regret meeting you. No one does. We’re all behind you, cheering you forward and ready to catch you if you fall, okay?" He smiled, anger having gradually dissolved into encouragement. "You don’t have to be perfect to matter! Maybe you just have to give a shit, and you give a lot of shits. But I want you to try giving a few of those shits to yourself for once.”

Jean wasn’t quite looking at him anymore. Like he was looking through him, eyes glassy.

“You owe it to yourself to live,” Eren added. “You’re worth it! And I know you can do it.”

Jean’s brow locked tight. He stepped forward, took Eren’s face into his hands, and leaned in to kiss him. He was clumsy, firm one moment and uncertain the next, and all the while Eren tried to figure out what to do other than move his lips the same way. Jean’s hands lowered from his face to grasp for a shirt that wasn’t there, nails lightly scratching his bare warm skin, and Eren scraped his teeth against Jean’s lip. Jean licked the seam of Eren’s mouth and Eren parted his lips on reflex, and soon his back was up against the wall.

The second he tasted the salt and bitter beer that lingered on Jean’s tongue, Eren gently pushed him off and touched his lips — not to wipe away the feeling, but to make sure what had just happened was real.

“Jean,” he said, “you've got a lot of shit in your system. Don't do something you might regret when you're sober.”

Jean hung his head. “Fuck. I know, I had a lot of shit, dunno what I'm doing.”

At least they were on the same page, kind of. “Yeah. You’re right,” Eren sighed. “I– Jean, are you crying?”

Jean seemed to have hardly noticed himself that his eyes were brimming with tears. He raised his hands to wipe them away with the back of his sleeve, but once his arm was there, it stayed to catch the rest as he shook.

“Jean, fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean–”

“I relapsed.”

Eren’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”

“I relapsed.” Jean pulled his sleeves further over his wrists to cover them, voice wet and quivering. “I thought I was getting better, I thought it was finally gonna be okay, I thought...”

Eren pulled the towel off his neck and gathered him nearer, wrapped around Jean even as Jean let his own arms hang limply at his sides. “Jean, it _will_ be okay. I’ve got you.”

“No, it _won't,_ I can’t do it, Eren,” Jean mumbled into his shoulder, leaning heavy on him, then said it louder. “I _can’t_. Being at the hospital, seeing everybody fucking _dying_ , I couldn’t handle it. I shouldn’t have gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Eren replied. It was all that was left to say. He slid down the wall to sit on the floor and Jean crumpled with him. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, it’s mine,” Jean said, hands finally rising to grip at him. “It’s mine, it’s always been my fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Eren said with a hint of anger. He felt wet tears on his shoulder and put his hand on the back of Jean’s neck. It was a simple gesture, but Jean melted into it, delicate.

“I relapsed,” Jean said after a while. “I let you down.”

“Don’t say that,” Eren murmured. Jean’s hair brushed against his cheek. “Everyone hits bumps in the road. That doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done, and that doesn’t make your recovery any less meaningful.”

Jean made a motion with his head that Eren hoped was a nod.

“You’re doing so well, Jean,” he added. “I’m so proud of you.”

Every move Jean made vibrated through his body and Eren could feel it; every thick swallow, every shift of his head, every twitch of his fingers clutching at his sleeves.

“How did you do it?” Jean asked, voice small. “How did you get over it?”

“I never really did,” Eren said. “That kind of thing... losing someone... you never really get over it. It did get better to deal with. And yeah, maybe I could’ve done it alone, but it would’ve been harder.” He found himself trickling his fingers into the short hair at Jean’s nape. “Do you even know how amazing it is that you’ve done this well on your own?”

Jean finally chuckled. “ _You_ should be the therapist.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Jean settled there, thin and heavy, as if he had no intention of moving. Eren’s back was starting to cramp up against the wall, but he said nothing about it. “Hey Eren? Can I sleep over?”

“I’ve slept over at your place, so I guess it’s only fair,” Eren snorted, with a slight roll of his eyes. “Can I ask why?”

 “I want to show you something, tomorrow morning. It’s a little far, so we’ll leave early.”

“Okay.” Eren leaned his head on top of Jean’s. “You? Getting up early? I won’t believe it until I see it.”

“Make me spaghetti in the morning, jackass.”

“For breakfast?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not making you spaghetti for breakfast.”

“What a killjoy,” Jean huffed. “All right, buy me coffee.”

“Is Starbucks okay?”

“Ew, do you even know me?”

Eren shrugged. “I don’t know of anyplace else.”

“I’m about to show you the bliss of hole-in-the-wall coffee, Eren. Get ready.”

“Fine, fine.”

“And I want a muffin.”

“You absolute dick, I’m broke.”

“I’ll share.”

“How generous of you,” Eren laughed.

“I’m a saint.”

“Does Saint Jean want the couch or my bed?”

“Hell, I’m not passing up that offer. Bed, please,” he said cheekily. "But I want you there, too."

It took a while for them to get up off the floor. Jean washed the taste of beer out of his mouth as Eren cleaned up his homework and textbooks from the couch. Jean stripped to his boxers and rolled into bed just as Eren stepped in.

"There's a checklist we have to go over," Eren said. "Do you hog blankets? Do you take up bedspace? What side to you sleep on? How many pillows do you need?"

"Just get in here, idiot, or I'll give you back the couch."

Eren snorted, taking the empty half Jean had left him. He switched off the light and met the shadowy outline of Jean's back, lit by the curtained window, when his gaze returned. Eren found himself mildly confused. Maybe Jean had just wanted his presence there and nothing more. He turned onto his own side, keeping to his edge.

He listened to the apartment breathe. Little creaks in the walls, accompanied by the occasional footsteps of someone living upstairs. Now and again, a door shut outside. Cars passed less and less frequently, softly exhaling past, casting a faint sliver of headlights skimming across the ceiling.

"Are you asleep?" Jean whispered after a little while.

Eren had always known it was harder to fall asleep if you tried to, but he'd never had to experience it. Time ticked slowly by, and sleep wouldn't hit him.

"Not sure," he answered.

"Me neither."

There was a tug to Eren's arm, and suddenly he found himself on his back and Jean was straddling him, on his hands and knees over him, kissing him _with tongue_ , and Eren tasted wintergreen toothpaste this time and felt much better about that. Jean's fingertips skittered soft, hesitant, over Eren's shoulders, yet his kiss was anything but. Eren sank into it, felt Jean's too-hot skin when their cheeks brushed, and when his hands traveled around Jean's sides to span across his back, Jean's hands squeezed down – confident, sure, even relieved.

The space between their bodies was ever-shrinking, and when the bare skin of Jean's front finally pressed down on top of his own, Eren flipped him onto his back. The underside of his thigh slid across one of Jean's knees, and he fumbled to maneuver, then started to laugh, and Jean's lips curled into a smile against Eren's mouth.

"Dude," Jean said, chuckling low, sleepy, "you're so bad at this."

"If anything's gonna turn me on, it's _that_ ," Eren said sarcastically, trying to fit their legs together as he spoke. Jean's hand curled around the nape of Eren's neck and tugged him down for another kiss, and Eren supposed they just had to deal with what they had. Jean dipped his palm into the curve of Eren's spine and hauled him closer and Eren flushed all over, hot, hotter than usual, and started to wonder if this was really okay. If Jean was still impaired by alcohol or weed or both, if Jean really did want it.

Or if he wanted anything at all.

When he felt the kiss slowing down, Eren broke away. "Hey, Jean."

Jean responded with a tiny snore.

Eren buried his face into the pillow next to Jean's head, muttering a muffled, "Are you fucking kidding me…" before he worked on freeing himself. Eren stretched out on his stomach, watching Jean's chest rise and fall. In sleep, Jean's brow lay flat and unfurrowed for what might've been the first time ever, and his hair scattered across his forehead and over the wrinkled white of the sheets. Eren pouted. He poked Jean's cheek a few times until he groaned and turned onto his side once more.

Now there were more questions than ever and no answers to even the scale.

Eren dragged the sheets over them again. He crawled up to lie behind Jean, to press his front to Jean's back, curling there with arms braced around his body until they slotted neatly together. Jean gently sighed when it happened and Eren forcefully nuzzled the blush out of his cheeks on Jean's shoulder.

Jean sank back into Eren's body, his face half-buried into the pillow. It smelled just like Eren – earth, ash, peppery keen, like someone had lit a spice cabinet on fire – and despite its strength, he all too easily fell deep in the thick of it.

Eren drifted off in the middle of trying to figure out where all these pieces were meant to fit.


	6. you could change the course of rivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i'm moving mountains  
>  but you could change the course of rivers  
> i keep you on needles and pins  
> but you give me [shivers](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4KaAY7bewd8)_

When Jean asked to stop to buy flowers an hour into the car ride, Eren had a feeling he knew where they were going. His hunch, he found, was right.

Jean parked the car and stepped out, taking the bouquet from Eren like it was made of glass. The cool September wind hit him right when he opened the door, and the shut of it echoed out into the empty air. 

The drive had taken almost two hours, and now they found themselves in a sloping valley off the side of the road. Civilization could be seen in the distance and nice houses dotted the mountains around them, big and secluded with a pretty view towards the sun. Here, however, a dismal, colorless chill had settled in under grey cloud cover and a thin fog.

Pebbles and gravel crunched under Jean’s shoes, and Eren followed him up the short hill. Soon the ground stopped and the grass began. At the top, where the landscape turned flat, lay a widespread cluster of tombstones. Eren read the names and dates on the memorials they passed – husbands, daughters, grandmothers, mere children, and Eren realized then that it had been close to a year since he’d visited his mom’s grave.

Jean stopped. Eren followed his gaze to the marker there.

**Marco Bodt**

June 16th, 1994

June 17th, 2012

_Gone, but not forgotten._

 

Jean placed the flowers neatly at the base of it.

“I wanted to show you,” he said.

Eren quietly took his hand. They sat down where they’d stood, a few feet away from the headstone, crossing their legs and keeping their hands together in the grass for several long minutes. Jean wasn’t crying yet but his eyes were red as though he was trying hard not to. Eren did the math. _Eighteen years old and a day._

“We were gonna go to the same school.” Jean’s mouth quivered into a tiny smile. “Trost College. It was close so we wouldn’t have to move. We could commute to class, see each other every day, and come home at the same time because we lived only a few blocks away. We grew up together our whole lives. Hell, our moms knew each other while they were pregnant with us.” He snorted, and then his lips pressed into a thin line.

Eren wanted to ask what happened then. But he remained silent, letting the space grow until Jean started talking again.

“We’d both been accepted. Marco, of course, passed with fucking flying colors. He couldn’t fail a class even if he tried. I got in by some miracle. He was going to major in English, and I put down Liberal Arts. I was just happy we could stick together.”

Eren squeezed his hand gently. Jean inhaled, kept it, blew it out.

“I... I missed his birthday. It was the first time I ever missed it, I’d made plans that couldn’t be rescheduled. Marco was freaking allergic to anger or something, he didn’t mind at all. He said we’d just hang out the next day, but something came up for him and he couldn’t come until late at night.”

Jean laced his fingers a little with Eren’s, and Eren met him halfway. Between their palms it was warm.

“He was walking to my house when he got hit by a car.”

_Jean knew instinctively that something was wrong when he heard screeching tires. He stupidly, desperately ignored it until in minutes the sound of an ambulance followed. The sirens curled up and down like a bell toll, and he ran out and bolted in the direction of flickering flashing lights._

“By the time I found the crash site, they’d left to take him to the hospital.”

_Ignoring the brief glimpse he’d had of a police car parked beside a slanted black Toyota pickup and streaks of dark pooling across the intersection, Jean raced back to his car, fumbled to get his key in the door, stabbed the ignition plate with it until he got it in. He drove fast, a little too recklessly, but he made it there in time to see the paramedics pulling a gurney out of the back. Jean barely managed to turn off the engine, didn’t even bother to close the door as he stumbled out and sprinted._

“When I got there, he was already gone. They said he’d probably died on impact. I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

_“Marco! MARCO!” Jean could see him, lying there on his back, bruised and battered, but fine. The picture changed as he got closer, where he expected to see more there was less, but when he was just a few feet away, a couple paramedics grabbed him before he could go further. “What happened?” he felt himself shouting, “What happened?!” They tugged him away by his arms, but Jean kicked and struggled and he was sobbing, he knew, but he had to get to Marco. They started to wheel Marco through the double doors, changing the angle so Jean could see the other side and he paled, breathless. “Tell me what happened!” he managed to scream as they carried him off. “Where’s the rest of him?!”_

Eren watched him with wet eyes, then looked back to the headstone. His chest felt heavy. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“And it was my fault,” Jean said. “I missed his birthday. I made him come to my house late at night, he always did everything for me and I fucked up and got him _killed_ , I should’ve...”

“That wasn’t your fault, Jean,” Eren insisted. “You couldn’t possibly have known, it was only an accident...”

“He always accommodated for me, always made it more convenient for me, I never deserved it.” Jean choked, ground his teeth together. “He went out of his way on his own damn birthday and he died. Because of me.”

“It was an accident.”

“I fucking _know_.”

Eren pulled his hand away so he could fold his arm around Jean’s shoulders. He was surprised when, instead of pushing him away, Jean dropped his head against Eren, leaned into the slight embrace.

“Sorry,” Eren said.

“It’s fine.” A visible shiver ran through Jean’s body. “I miss him. I transferred to St. Maria because I could tell I wouldn’t be able to handle going to Trost knowing he should’ve been there with me.”

“Did you love him?” Eren asked.

Jean’s expression softened. “I don’t know. Looking back, I think I did, and I think he loved me too... We just never said it. With the way things turned out, I’m kinda glad we didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t think the same,” Eren replied. “Nothing lasts forever, so you’ve got to make it count.”

“Did Armin say that to you, too?”

“Armin is the wisest man I know. I actually got that off a motivational poster, though.”

Jean cracked a short laugh. “Of course you did.”

They sat together in silence. Eren read the tombstone inscription over and over until the picture of it burned in his mind. Jean was heavy and warm next to him, a welcome feeling amidst the cold, grey breeze.

“Your mom...” Jean said. “You said she died.”

“Yeah,” Eren breathed.

“How’d she die...? If you don’t mind my asking.”

Eren shrugged, settled. “She... was murdered. In the house, soon after Dad left. Our neighbor was over at the time, and when my mom heard someone break in she told him to take me and Mikasa upstairs into the closet to hide. We could see through the slits in the door... We saw everything. She kept him from getting to us.”

Eren could still remember Mikasa bracing her arms around him, Hannes pressing a hand so hard against his mouth so hard that it hurt, and for a time those things had kept him from bursting out of the closet to protect his mother. But by then she was on the ground; too late to make a difference.

“He... He tried to get into the closet after that. We’d locked it and we were holding it closed, but he kept shaking the doors harder and harder until the police came. We don’t even know why... why he targeted her, and us.”

“... Holy shit,” Jean whispered. He grabbed the back of Eren’s head and held him closer into his shoulder for support. Eren closed his eyes, appreciative of the contact.

“I actually started off playing guitar when I was little. Mom taught me how. After she died, it was harder to play... So that’s when I switched to drums." His lips curled into a soft smile. "Even then, playing music, being in the band, I wanted to thank you for that. I know I didn't want to be in the band at first, but... I feel closer to her now than I've ever been.”

Jean played with Eren’s hair and Eren sighed. But he’d fought his battles. Come to terms with it. He missed her every day, but things were easier now. He understood, though, why Jean was still having such a hard time. Eren had had enough people to lean on when he needed help. Jean's support system, the only one he'd ever known, had died.

“Tell me about him,” he said softly.

“About Marco?”

“Yeah.”

Jean sighed, pulling off him so he could lean back on his hands. Cool air flooded Eren’s side, and he shivered a little, tightening his jacket around himself.

“Black hair, brown eyes. He was smaller than me up until sophomore year when he shot up like a tree. Never let me forget he was a couple inches taller. And freckles, not just on his face, he had freckles all over his goddamn body like God was making him and he knocked over the cinnamon.” Jean laughed softly and tugged his beanie further down over his cold red ears. “I started getting undercuts ‘cause he got one once. Looked better on him, though.”

“And what was he like?” Eren asked. It was easier now that he had a mental picture.

“Mmm... Really nice, like inconceivably nice. I dunno how he stuck around a jackass like me all the time.”

Eren grinned. “Opposites attract.”

“Wow, dickface.” Jean threw a tiny handful of grass at him. “Anyway, I never really felt like I deserved his company. Figured we’d grow up a little and then go our separate ways one we found our cliques in high school. And we kind of did, but I really only had a couple people I hung out with sometimes. Marco was the type who was friends with everybody. He got fucking prom king. But I think he knew he was my only friend. He always made time for me, always made sure I was keeping up with my grades, helped me out when I didn’t know how to do my homework. When my parents got divorced, he let me sleep over at his house for a whole week and we watched the entire Buffy series.”

“That’s amazing. Are you going to kill me for saying I’ve never watched Buffy?”

“It might’ve put the nail in your coffin.”

“That was literally _the worst_ pun ever,” Eren said, though he still laughed. “He sounds like he was great.”

“He was.” Jean sighed, smile fading. “When I went to see my mom in the hospital, you remember she let me stay at the house, right? Well, I was stupid and decided to walk over to Marco’s place. I took the long way over, and then I stood in front of his house for a whole damn hour, felt like. Waiting for the courage to go up and knock. It’d been a long time since I was home, y’know?” He sat forward and drew his knees up. “And I finally did. I went up and knocked, and for a split second when the door opened I hoped it would be Marco. But it wasn’t even his mom, it was a total stranger.”

Eren thought of putting a hand on his shoulder, but in the end he simply leaned on him in a wordless comforting gesture.

“I thought I just had the wrong house," he continued, "but it was theirs. Except it wasn’t anymore, they must’ve moved. Seeing that house with different people living in it... It’s like he never lived there. Like he’d never existed. He was just gone.” Jean swallowed. “That’s when I relapsed. I... I don’t want to forget him.”

“You don’t have to,” Eren said.

“He must be disappointed in me. Up there, or wherever he is.”

Eren knocked his head against Jean’s shoulder. “Marco doesn’t sound like the type of guy who would be. Besides, spirits or whatever you believe in? They don’t hold grudges. He’d never blame you for what happened to him, and you know it.”

“Just because one person wouldn’t blame me doesn’t mean I’m not at fault,” Jean grumbled.

Eren turned to the headstone. “Marco, do you think it’s Jean’s fault? ... Hear that? He says no.”

“He does not,” Jean said, “You– Marco, tell him how much of a jerk he is.”

“He says I’m the nicest guy ever.”

“He _actually_ says you are _literally_ an asshole.”

“The fuck does that even mean?!” Eren threw his head back and laughed. “Don’t forget I bought you coffee _and_ a muffin this morning!”

Jean faced the headstone. “He bought me a fucking _banana nut_ muffin. Who the fuck likes banana nut?”

“ _I_ like banana nut!”

“So _that’s_ why you’re such a weirdo!”

“Marco says he likes banana nut, too! Maybe _you’re_ the weirdo!”

“Marco’s allergic to nuts!”

They knocked each other’s hats off and scuffled until they were both laughing and panting in the grass. They stared up at the darkening clouds, breathless.

“Y’know,” Jean murmured, and Eren turned his head to see Jean’s eyes were closed. “For the first time in years, I feel good. I feel really good. I feel like Marco’s here, cheering me on. I never believed in all that ‘watching over you from Heaven’ crap, but it’s kinda like he really is sitting in front of me, talking to me.”

Eren watched his lips shake as he took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell in one fluid motion.

“What’s he saying?”

“... He’s–” Jean blinked as a raindrop hit him straight in the face, right under his eye. More followed, one striking Eren in the forehead dead center and rolling off the side. Soon the sprinkles turned into light rain still heavy enough to eventually get them wet.

Eren grinned and scrambled to his feet in the still-dry grass. “I think he’s telling us to shut up and get off his grave.” He helped Jean to his feet.

“You go ahead,” Jean said, tossing him the keys.

Eren smiled and ran off to the car.

Jean stepped up to Marco’s stone. The rain was starting to seep past his hair and into his scalp. A droplet ran down the side of his neck, following the tendon to his collarbone. He knelt to the ground, one hand atop the grave marker just above the M of Marco’s name.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “I love you, and I always will.” He kissed the stone’s cold wet edge. “Goodbye, Marco. Thanks for everything. I know what to do now.”

_I might be drunk_

_'Cause I can't walk in a straight line_

_But the things you said to me,_

_What I remember's so divine_

_I can't recite from A to G,_

_But I can count from you to me;_

_They've got a flashlight in my eyes_

_Yet I can still see that I totally despise you,_

_For the shit you make me say_

_And feel and do_

 

A few more cheers rang out in the bar – sympathetic, happy, hopeful. Jean gripped the microphone tighter in his cupped hands. Eren pulled a few tricks with his drumsticks as he kept the beat.

_I can stand on my two feet_

_With all your words stuck on repeat_

_But I might never understand why_

_Your heart's burning in my hands,_

_Or why I'm holding it tonight,_

_While everything feels oh so right,_

_When hanging out with you is just like_

_Drinking shitty Walmart wine_

_Or why you gave this to me anyway_

_And why I kind of want to give you mine…_

 

Ymir grinned wide and gave one of the best performances they’d ever witnessed, and Reiner was a short cry from incredible, wonderfully delicate on the guitar as the song faded out. Jean’s voice lingered and tapered off, only to be interrupted by applause from the bar. Out in the crowd, Connie let out a yell and Sasha stuck her pinkies in her mouth to give a high whistle.

Jean smiled. It hurt so much and his eyes were warm. But he was happier than he’d been in a long time.

“That’s the end of our show,” he said into the mic. “I just have one last announcement.” The other band members waved their hands palms down to shush the bar.

Nothing lasts forever.

“I didn’t want to bring it all down at the beginning,” he said, “but unfortunately, this is our final performance.” Disappointed murmurs quickly rose from the crowd. “I know, I know,” he continued. “We had a pretty good run, but we’ve all gotta move on. We love you guys so much and we couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you!”

Jean stuck the mic back in the stand and beckoned for the rest of the Jaegerbombs. Eren left his drum set and Ymir and Reiner closed in as they stood together center stage. The applause was amazing, but what was more amazing was Jean expression of pure joy – beautiful smile, eyes crinkled and bright. Eren wrestled his arm further over Jean’s shoulders and shook him close, and Jean’s hand rose to meet his own there until Reiner ground his fist into the top of his head.

They got hugs when they dismounted the stage, and a couple fans even asked them to sign their T-shirts as they passed through. A couple drinks later, they packed up their instruments and headed out. Eren thanked Christa for taping the show so he could send a copy to Mikasa.

That night, Eren and Jean made spaghetti together in Eren’s small kitchen. Eren taught him the recipe, going slow so he could remember it but giving him written instructions anyway. Jean flicked sauce in Eren’s face and it started a food fight that left them little sauce that was actually usable. They laughed it off, cleaned up the kitchen (and themselves) while the meatballs cooked, made more sauce, and had it all ready by the time the others arrived for dinner.

They watched Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home – the one with the whales – and fell asleep stuffed as the credits rolled.

Jean really didn’t have many possessions, Eren realized as he and the others helped him pack his car the next morning. The apartment was empty now. Jean went back for one more thing, but they knew he was only going up to stand in his living room one last time.

He shut the trunk of his car over his belongings. The guitar had a special place in the front seat. He made the rounds of goodbyes to everyone – Armin, Christa, Reiner, gave an especially long and tight hug to Ymir who nearly broke his back and sternly told him to give her updates. Last was Eren; neither of them really noticed as the others gave them a little space.

“You sure this is what you want?” Eren asked.

“I’ve never been more certain,” Jean said. He smiled. It was genuine. “This is something I need to do. I’m just sorry it took me so long to realize.”

Eren nodded. Jean seemed confident, and Eren trusted that he knew exactly what he was doing. Jean would heal. He’d live. Eren grinned and pulled him into a hard hug.

“Good luck on your soul-searching quest. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks, man.” Jean curled into the hug, closed his eyes and basked in it for a while longer.

After a minute, Ymir reached into the car and honked the horn to break them up. “It’s cold! Get out of here, Kirk. Before you combust, and before _I_ freeze.”

Jean parted from Eren and jogged over to the car so he could slide into the driver’s seat. Ymir shut the door for him, and Jean hung out the window over his elbow.

“Bye, guys. See you.”

They waved.

Jean started the car and took off.

Eren stayed to quietly watch his car shrink into the distance until it disappeared around the corner.

It was only then that he realized he’d forgotten to ask if they were still.


	7. and we'd throw our kites to the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _it’s been years  
>  since we carved our names  
> on a clocktower door  
> before everything changed  
> we were big eyed boys  
> with the salt on our skin  
> and we’d throw our kites to the [wind](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_K8EkTC3kME)_

_Please leave a message after the tone._

_-beep-_

“Hey Jean, it’s Eren. I know it’s only been a couple weeks since you left, but... hope you’re doing well. Ymir said you haven’t called her back in a few days. I get the whole _Into the Wild_ thing as long as you’re not eating poisonous shit, but call me back. Or her. One of us. Don’t call Reiner, he’s back in Germany right now, you’ll probably get charged. Just don’t go changing your last name to Supertramp, your real one sucks enough. Seeya.”

_-beep-_

“Jean, it’s Eren. You know. You still haven’t called us back... I mean, whatever, do your thing. Whatever helps. Just want to know what’s up. Uh. Seeya, man.”

_-beep-_

“Hey Supertramp, pick up the phone. I don’t even need to see your stupid face, or hear your voice. Well. Ah. God, Jean, you’re an idiot. I bet you’re living in your car. Hope things are so good for you that you don’t have a minute to check your damn phone. Or charge it. In three months.”

_-beep-_

“It’s Eren... again. I dunno if you got any of my other voicemails. I... Augh. I hope you’re happy, idiot.”

_-beep-_

“-esus Christ, Jean, where the fuck are you? Sasha and Connie ask about you sometimes. I don’t know what to tell them anymore.”

_-beep-_

“I made too much spaghetti again. You would’ve got so sick, dude. I kinda did. I ate all of it. I haven’t made spaghetti in a long time.”

_-beep-_

“Hey Jean. I bet you’ll come back to a ton of messages, huh? Ymir is _pissed_. Might want to delete a few of hers, they get loud. Anyway, uh... Hope to hear from you. Still nothing on your Facebook. Let us know what’s going on. … Armin finally got that job he wanted. He’s been working with them for a few months. We threw him a party. Wish you could’ve... Bye.”

_-beep-_

“I went to Marco’s grave today, on his birthday. To visit him, and to see if you might be there. I put down some flowers and a banana nut muffin.”

_-beep-_

“You’re such an asshole, holy shit. Where the fuck are you? You’d better not be dead somewhere. We’ve got no way to find you or know where you are. This is stupid. You’re so stupid, Jean. Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy, you dick.“

_-beep-_

“Shit, I’m sorry. Jean. I don’t want that last message to be the last thing I ever say to you. Like, if you really are dead. So, uhm. Pick up soon.”

_-beep-_

“Have I been prying too much? Christa said I should probably leave you be. I dunno. I managed to find your mom’s number but she said you only visited for a few minutes, and that’s the last she’s heard from you in... What, a year and a half? Shit... I was in a band with you for months and I’m starting to forget what you sound like.”

_-beep-_

“You know what? I fucking miss you, you literal asshole. Gave Marco some birthday flowers again. Y’know what he said? He said, ‘Jean, call Eren back. You’re being a big douche. _Into the Wild_ was a terrible movie.’ That’s word for word what he said, I didn’t make that up. So call me back. Sometime in the next century.”

_-beep-_

“Are you… Are we still…? Jean… please.”

_-beepbeepbeep-_

_The number you have dialed is no longer in service._

Eren’s heart dropped deep into the pit of his stomach. He dialed again, once, twice, three times, only to hear the same robotic voice deliver the same disappointing message. The waitress brought his food over, but he couldn’t even look at it. He stretched his arms out over the counter, palms up, and laid his head down.

Maybe Jean was finally gone.

That was a harrowing thought.

Eren had come back to The Rose for the first time in months. Ever since moving into the next town over where the rent was a little cheaper, any time that wasn’t spent leaving Jean angry voicemails was given to job hunting. A simple bachelor’s degree in economics wasn’t cutting it as he combed the market, but he’d started out in reception – a job that had _thoroughly_ tested his patience – and now had worked his way up to an assistant position for public sector manager Erwin Smith. And though Eren had graduated from St. Maria University with little sense of direction and nowhere to divert his energy, in just a few short months Smith had provided him with enough experience in several fields that Eren had developed a better idea of what he wanted to do with his life.

Now, while still working under Smith, Eren was looking into social work and socioeconomic activism. He found himself ranting Armin’s ear off over minimum wage and income inequality, but Armin happily listened. Eren was starting to suspect Armin was glad he was moving on from Jean.

Not like any of that was fair. Jean hadn’t just left – he’d taken everything else with him and given Eren no chance to have closure.

So there he sat at the fucking bar in The Rose, where a decent new wave band was playing that only reminded him every minute of what they’d had. The food wasn’t even that good here. Eren was just hoping what they lacked in food quality, they made up for in something like time travel.

Eren was forgetting, gradually, how Jean’s voice sounded. What his hands, calloused and warm, felt like when they touched. He could imagine it now, if he tried, if he closed his eyes. Jean’s hand slipping into his own, fingers locking together until their palms got sweaty.

The quiet sound of chewing interrupted his train of thought.

Eren glanced up.

Jean, alive, actually holding his hand, clean-shaven except for a bit of stubble.

Jean, sporting a rolled-up oxford and floral forearm tattoos and a better undercut.

Jean, _eating his fucking fries._

“What the fuck, you asshole?!” Eren finally yelled, ripping his hand out of Jean’s.

“I’m just taking a couple!” Jean insisted while cramming three more into his mouth.

“You- _You-_ ”

“Ok, fine, one more.”

“This isn’t about the damn fries!”

Eren had no words. He hadn’t practiced for this moment, hadn’t expected it in the least. He’d always thought Jean would at least call first to announce his return. But here Jean was, in the flesh, a fucking surprise and he hadn’t even said _surprise_ yet.

“They’re so cold!” Jean said. “Are you even eating these?”

Eren leapt out of his chair and punched him in the jaw.

Jean went reeling back, stumbling and almost falling over, clutching the bruising side of his face. “ _Ow_ ,” he said, blinking wide, rolling his jaw. “Eren, what the fuck?”

“What the fuck right back at you!” Eren clenched his fists, ready to hit him again. His face was hot. “You disappear for two fucking years, no calls back, no indication you fucking _exist_ anymore, and then you come back and all you have to fucking say is ‘Are you eating these fries?’ Are you fucking real?!”

“I think so!” Jean replied, confused. “Jaeger, sit down, people are staring.”

“I’m not gonna fucking sit down!”

“Okay fine, stand,” he said, “but no more punching. Let me explain.”

Jean managed to calm Eren down enough to get him sitting again. Only then did he ask the bartender for a bag of ice to press against his darkening jaw.

“Sorry,” Eren mumbled. He pushed his plate toward Jean as a peace offering.

“You hit heavy, dude. I feel hardcore now.” Jean ate a few fries, wincing, and pulled the ice pack away from his jaw. “Do I still look beautiful?”

Eren snorted. “Did you ever?”

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” He laughed and placed the ice pack on the counter for a moment, eyes lingering there like he was tracing the grains in the varnished wood marred by circles of condensation.

“So, can I explain?”

“Sure, Supertramp.”

“Superwhat?”

“Supertramp. You know, from _Into the Wild?_ ”

“Never seen it.”

“Guy drops everything to go bumming in the woods and changes his name– Whatever. Nevermind. So you didn’t get any of my voicemails?”

“No, I dropped my phone in the ocean.”

“You–” Eren stared, bewildered. “You dropped your phone in the ocean?”

“Well. Threw.”

“... You threw your phone in the ocean.”

“Yeah.”

Eren pinched the bridge of his nose. “ _Unbelievable_.”

“I didn’t think you’d be so mad,” Jean said, putting the ice down for a minute. “Well, anyway, first thing I did was go home. But once I got there, I really didn’t want to stay too long, so I talked to Mom for a while and then left. And as I was going further and further out, I felt better. And I wanted to cut myself off a bit.”

“You threw your phone in the _ocean,_ though.”

“Yeah, my fault. I threw it, and right after I threw it, I realized all my contacts were in it. I couldn’t remember your numbers, so I couldn’t call. I was already too far to turn back. Yeah, I know, I fucked up.”

“I thought you might be dead,” Eren said casually. "So where did you go?"

Jean smiled. "Everywhere. Anywhere. I just drove. I took out a bunch of cash and hopped motels when the rates were cheap, but most of the time I slept in the car. Sometimes I stayed in town for a month or two, getting to know people, working a bit, and then I was out again. Didn't really care where I was going, didn't really matter. Usually flipped a coin when I didn't know which fork to take," he laughed. "It was amazing, being free, and freedom used to scare me. There was so much I felt I was supposed to do before, because it's required, but it was all so forced and I was tied up by the weight of it and the world wouldn't slow down enough to let me get my bearings. Once I got out there, completely alone and away from it all… everything, all that shit I used to feel, got cleared out. Like I'd had a head cold for two years and suddenly I woke up with not much more than sniffles." Jean seemed to realize then that he'd been rambling. "Well, eventually, I kept driving until I must've boomeranged and ended up back here."

When Jean seemed to have finished, Eren quipped, "So… basically _Into the Wild_ , except you had money and all your stuff."

"Well when you put it that way."

Eren studied him now in the silence. Two years out of town had done wonders for Jean. His eyes were brighter. He’d filled out and stood a little taller now, and there was a leanness about his figure that suggested he was eating well. His patterned tattoos, Eren noticed, stopped at the insides of his arms to expose a clean column of scars, and only scars.

“You look good,” Eren said after a while, awkward.

Jean laughed under his breath and picked up the ice again. “Thanks...” he said quietly, gaze soft and on the table, but he was smiling. “I, uh, got a job.”

“You did?” Eren fixed his slouch. “Where, doing what?”

“Well, it’s not really a job…” Jean seemed bashful. “I’m running a support group, a small one downtown. I really like it so far… It helps. So in the past couple months I finished my GE and now I’m at Shigan to get a counseling degree.”

Eren grinned. “I knew you were up to good things all this time.”

“You just said you thought I was dead!”

“I had some faith in you, you know!”

Jean grimaced. “You called me Super Trampstamp.”

“ _Supertramp,_ oh my god, Jean.” Eren pressed his face into his hands. Jean may have visually matured, with his stupid suit and tie and older features, but he was still the same fucking dumbass, and two years hadn’t changed that.

“Thanks, though,” Jean said. “For helping me believe I could do it.”

Eren wasn’t sure how to respond to that with anything more than a smile. Jean had come through so much darkness, had done it all on his own, and Eren couldn’t be more proud.

“So...” Eren said, sitting on his hands.

“Hm?”

“You’re living nearby?”

“Yeah,” Jean said. He looked almost diffident about it. “Feels nice here. Familiar. Like home, but without the bad shit.”

“And you’re here to stay?” Eren asked.

Jean stared at him awhile. Then a grin split his face.

“I knew you missed me, Jaeger.”

“Shut up,” Eren said, and threw a french fry at him.

“Well,” Jean conceded with a shrug, “if it counts, I missed your cooking. And I guess I missed you, too.”

At the same time, like clockwork, like planets aligning under fate, they both brought their hands together. In all the universe, in this liberal college town in all that universe, in this tiny near-empty bar in that liberal college town in all that universe, home was here between their hands.

He felt like he could breathe again.

“I love you,” Eren blurted. Taking that breath, before he could stop it, before he’d realized those words had left him. He fumbled to save himself. “Kinda, I like you, w-well, I mean...”

Jean watched him with the most rapt attention, a gorgeous fondness Eren had never seen that had him certain those words really were true, and he said, “I know.”

Eren’s gaze darted over him, over how much he’d changed yet still stayed the same, was older and wiser and well taken care of but still as much of a ridiculous hipster geek as ever.

“... Did you just fucking Han Solo me.”

"I’ve been waiting to Han Solo someone for _years_.”

“Oh.” Eren rolled his eyes. “And you picked _me_.”

“I picked someone who’d appreciate it.” Jean laughed softly to himself, glancing down at their hands. “I’ve kinda known for a while, I think. A little hard to tell the difference between intuition and hope. So, I, uh...” A blush suddenly crept up his face, all blotchy and scattered, and as he restlessly averted his gaze, Eren could feel Jean’s hand warm and sweaty and trembling in his own.

“Oh my god,” Eren said, grinning, “you can do the fucking ‘I know’ but you can’t actually do the thing.”

“Shut up and give me a damn minute,” Jean mumbled.

Eren waited patiently. Holding his hand, squeezing his knuckles. Finally, Jean’s eyes flickered up to meet his own straight-on.

“I love you, too.” He broke eye contact, flustered again. “Stupid.”

It may have been just another immature insult, but over time they’d turned it into music. Eren celebrated every minute of Jean’s honesty, and Jean found himself addicted to Eren’s tempo, as passionate and unpredictable yet stable, somehow, as it was, and together there echoed this strange, off-beat music composed by the mesh of their hearts with lyrics so profound that maybe they didn’t really mean anything at all. And they were fine with that, with not knowing and just feeling, a shared sensation so electric in the space where spirit met skin and deep, deep into the blood-marrow of their bones.

“We’re still,” Jean added.

“Thank god,” Eren said, and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> _this is the road to ruin  
>  and we're starting at the [end](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=996nDRrFa64)_
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading my dumb fic about these two ridiculous boys who are unfortunately my life. Writing this fic has been a somewhat healing, therapeutic experience for me. And if it touched you at all, I hope you find peace and love if not here, then elsewhere, and if not elsewhere, then here.


End file.
